Division  H  M  2.  S  i 
Section  *  W  Q  Jj 


CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM,  AND 
SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  •  BOSTON  •  CHICAGO  •  DALLAS 
ATLANTA  •  SAN  FRANCISCO 


MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  •  BOMBAY  •  CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


Conservatism,  Radicalism, 
and  Scientific  Method 

AN  ESSAY  ON  SOCIAL  ATTITUDES 


A.  B.  WOLFE 

PROFESSOR  OF  ECONOMICS,  OHIO  STATE  UNIVERSITY 


j]2tto  gotft 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

1923 

All  rights  reserved 


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PREFACE 


Fifteen  years  ago  I  initiated  a  college  course  in  what  I  con¬ 
ceived  to  be  the  broader  and  basic,  but  concrete  and  specific, 
social  problems.  My  students  were  Juniors  and  Seniors, 
supposedly  in  possession  of  a  modicum  of  that  liberal  culture 
which  the  first  class  American  college  prides  itself  on  bestowing. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  quickly  evident  that  something  was  wrong. 
The  students  were  not  ready  for  profitable  discussion  of  prob¬ 
lems  involving  conflict  of  human  interest  and  sentiments.  They 
lacked  the  essential  open-mindedness  and  objectivity.  They 
were,  in  spite  of  what  the  undergraduate  curriculum  had  been 
doing  for  them,  perhaps  in  part  because  of  it,  markedly  char¬ 
acterized  by  the  preconceptions,  the  prejudices,  and  the  uncriti¬ 
cal  sentiments  of  the  social  stratum  from  which  in  most  part 
college  students  come — that  somewhat  indefinite  but  exceedingly 
important  part  of  the  population  known  as  the  middle  class. 

They  had  little  or  no  conception  of  scientific  method  or  of 
an  objective  approach  to  social  problems.  Their  tendency  was 
toward  dogmatic  assertion  and  judgment  on  the  basis  of  the 
socially  inherited  sentiments  of  their  class.  Their  criteria  of 
criticism  and  valuation  were  their  own  likes  and  dislikes.  In 
short  they  were,  as  was  to  be  expected,  deeply  marked  by  what 
is  referred  to  in  this  book  as  popular-mindedness. 

In  some  slight  measure  to  modify  this  psychological  situation, 
I  thereafter  began  the  course  with  a  few  lectures  on  scientific 
method  and  attitude,  democracy  and  class  point  of  view,  indi¬ 
vidualism  and  social  cooperation,  and  conservatism,  liberalism, 
and  radicalism.  The  modification  of  attitude  apparently  result¬ 
ant  upon  these  cursory  lectures  was  so  marked  that  as  time  went 
on  it  seemed  profitable  to  expand  the  preliminary  discussion 
of  social  viewpoints  and  attitudes,  until  finally  it  covered  a 
full  term. 

What  had  at  first  been  undertaken  to  meet  an  immediate 
pedagogical  situation  came  to  enlist  a  closer  attention  on  my 


Vlll 


PREFACE 


own  part,  and  I  became  interested  in  the  psychology  and  the 
causation  and  effects  of  the  sentiments  which  long  observation 
had  taught  me  were  of  major  significance  in  the  determination 
of  attitudes  and  thence  of  judgments  and  action.  The  present 
book  is  the  result. 

The  book  is  thus,  in  a  sense,  the  product  of  a  by-current  of 
interest  followed  up  in  the  intervals  available  from  other  lines 
of  thought  and  work.  But  it  is  a  by-current,  which,  I  believe, 
leads  into  a  highly  important  phase  of  social  psychology  and 
practical  ethics. 

An  economist  may  be  criticized  for  invading  the  fields  of 
social  psychology  and  social  ethics,  and  especially  for  presum¬ 
ing  to  discuss  attitudes,  a  subject  now  beginning  to  enlist  the 
lively  interest  of  sociologists.  I  shall  offer  no  excuses,  however. 
There  is  a  real  need,  both  for  college  students  and  for  the  gen¬ 
eral  reader,  for  a  book  which  attempts  an  objective  analysis, 
not  too  technical  and  not,  perhaps,  hopelessly  superficial,  of 
the  central  social  viewpoints  and  attitudes  now  crucially  signi- 
cant  in  the  perpetuation  of  sentimental  conflict,  of  subjective 
approach,  and  of  interest-bias  in  the  formation  of  “public  opin¬ 
ion’7  on  fundamental  social  issues. 

At  a  time  when  conservatism  and  radicalism  are  both  regarded, 
by  their  respective  adherents,  almost  as  religions,  and  the  con¬ 
flict  between  reactionism  and  liberalism  is  sharper  than  at  any 
time  before  within  the  memory  of  living  man,  no  apology  need 
be  forthcoming  for  an  attempt  to  arrive  at  a  critical  under¬ 
standing  of  the  psychology,  and  the  probable  ethical  value,  of 
these  attitudes.  There  is  much  confusion  of  thought  and  senti¬ 
ment,  even  among  trained  sociologists,  over  “democracy”  and 
“individualism”;  every  one  talks  of  democracy,  but  few  have 
a  definite  idea  as  to  its  meaning  or  ultimate  ethical  implications. 
Our  American  tradition  of  self-help  individualism  is  in  conflict 
with  the  growing  perception  of  the  necesstity  for  an  ideal  and 
a  process  of  social  cooperation  more  in  keeping  with  our  present 
state  of  culture  and  technical  development.  Any  serious  at¬ 
tempt,  therefore,  to  throw  light  upon  the  fundamental  charac¬ 
ter  of  these  sentiments  and  attitudes  should  be  welcome.  And 
when  there  is  such  a  notable  lack  of  understanding  of  the  use 
of  the  scientific  method  and  the  ethical  function  of  the  scien- 


PREFACE 


ix 


tific  attitude,  when  the  psychoses  resultant  from  a  world  war 
have  transmuted  the  little  objectivity  we  had  into  sentimental 
hysterias  and  praise-and-blame  obsessions,  a  presentation  of  the 
scientific  attitude  and  the  elements  of  scientific  method  in  rela¬ 
tion  to  the  solution  of  social  issues,  especially  of  interest-con¬ 
flicts,  can  hardly  be  said  to  be  a  work  of  supererogation.  Nor 
can  a  simple  analysis  of  the  contrasting  subjective  popular 
attitudes. 

Had  I  been  able  to  discover  that  anyone  else  had  attempted 
this  task  this  book  would  not  have  been  written.  But  I  have 
been  able  to  find  but  few,  and  no  sustained,  attempts  to  analyze 
conservatism  and  radicalism  as  central  social  attitudes.  And 
so  far  as  I  know  there  is  not  available  what  I  have  attempted, 
an  exposition,  simple  without  being  superficial,  of  the  social  and 
ethical  function  of  scientific  method  and  attitude  in  the  solu¬ 
tion,  or  at  least  the  mitigation,  of  interest-conflicts,  now  so 
commonly  pursued  and  inflamed  by  the  passionate,  praise-and- 
blame  propagandas  of  sentimental,  egotistical,  and  class,  con¬ 
scious  reactionaries,  conservatives,  and  radicals. 

The  main  purpose  of  this  book  is  to  present  a  dispassionate 
analysis,  as  objective  as  I  could  make  it,  of  the  sources,  char¬ 
acteristics,  and  the  socio-ethical  bearing  of  the  attitudes  treated. 
But  in  working  out  the  probable  social  effects  of  the  several 
attitudes,  and  especially  in  the  attempt  to  indicate  the  funda¬ 
mental  social  and  ethical  function  of  scientific  method  and  the 
scientific  attitude,  it  became  necessary  to  touch  upon  the  prob¬ 
lem  of  fundamental  ethical  norms,  both  of  ends  and  of  means, 
and  attempt,  as  is  done  in  Chapter  X,  on  Individualism  and 
Democracy,  to  indicate  the  psychological  basis  for  an  objective 
ethical  norm.  The  critical  reader  may  find  in  this  chapter, 
and  perhaps  in  some  of  the  discussion  of  scientific  method,  evi¬ 
dences  of  a  priori  assumption,  contrary  to  the  scientific  spirit; 
but  the  conclusions  drawn  rest  upon  only  one  outstanding  fun¬ 
damental  postulate,  namely,  the  assumption  of  a  consistent 
mechanistic,  deterministic  view  of  nature,  man  and  his  social 
relations  included.  I  have  been  driven  to  this  postulate  because 
it  seems  to  be  the  only  one  in  accord  with  rational  experience, 
and  the  only  one  which  affords  a  sure  basis  of  understanding 
of  phenomena,  both  “natural”  and  “social.” 


X 


PREFACE 


Consistently  with  this  deterministic  position  goes  adherence 
to  behavioristic  psychology  as  the  only  psychology  which  gives 
promise  of  consistent  scientific  quality.  But  I  have  not  deemed 
it  necessary,  with  the  extreme  behaviorists,  to  reject  the  concept 
of  consciousness;  and  in  the  analysis  of  the  motivation  of  radi¬ 
calism  I  have  used  the  psycho-analytical  terminology.  I  do  not 
think  it  inconsistent  with  scientific  behaviorism. 

Philosophical  subtleties  have  been  avoided,  and  only  in  Chap¬ 
ter  V  and  the  closing  pages  of  the  Introduction  is  there  more 
than  incidental  use  of  technical  psychological  terminology.  It 
is  important  to  note  that  where  the  term  instinct  is  used  it  is 
used  in  a  very  general  sense,  hardly  more  definite  than  would 
be  connoted  by  the  phrase  “inherited  tendency.” 

Part  of  the  chapter  on  the  Motivation  of  Radicalism  has 
appeared  in  the  Psychological  Review.  The  chapter  on  Indi¬ 
vidualism  and  Democracy,  in  abridged  form,  appeared  in  the 
International  Journal  of  Ethics.  An  article  on  “Emotion, 
Blame,  and  the  Scientific  Attitude  in  Relation  to  Radical  Lead¬ 
ership,”  published  in  the  International  Journal  of  Ethics  for 
January,  1922,  and  one  on  “The  Role  of  Sympathy  and  Ethical 
Motivation  in  Scientific  Social  Research,”  in  the  Journal  of 
Philosophy  for  April  26,  1923,  have  been  drawn  heavily  upon. 
A  part  of  Chapter  II  has  appeared  in  the  Scientific  Monthly. 
Cordial  acknowledgment  and  thanks  are  due  the  respective  pub¬ 
lishers  for  permission  to  use  these  articles. 

Parts  of  the  manuscript  have  been  read  by  Professors  F.  A. 
C.  Perrin  and  A.  P.  Brogan,  of  the  University  of  Texas,  by 
Professor  T.  Y.  Smith,  of  the  University  of  Chicago,  and  by 
Binnie  D.  Pearce  of  Austin,  Texas.  To  all  of  these  persons 
I  am  indebted  for  valuable  criticism.  To  my  former  colleague, 
Professor  Max  S.  Handman,  of  the  University  of  Texas,  the 
value  of  my  six  years’  intimate  association  with  whom  I  can 
hardly  overstate,  I  owe  special  acknowledgment,  for  most  stim¬ 
ulating  criticism  and  suggestion.  More  than  to  anyone  else  I 
owe  thanks  to  Clara  Snell  Wolfe,  first  for  reading  and  correct¬ 
ing  the  page  proofs  entire,  most  of  all  for  her  penetrative  appre¬ 
ciation  and  criticism  of  the  subject  matter,  both  in  its  final 
form  and  during  the  years  of  its  development  and  organization. 
I  wish  also  to  take  this  opportunity  to  express  my  appreciation 


PREFACE 


xi 


for  the  helpful  suggestions,  which  have  come  from  stimulative 
contacts  with  the  students  in  my  class  on  social  problems  dur¬ 
ing  nine  years  teaching  in  the  University  of  Texas. 


Austin,  Texas,  September  6,  1923. 


A.  B.  W. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I.  Introduction . 

II.  Conservatism  and  Radicalism — Definitions  and 
Distinctions  . 

III.  Disinterested  Conservatism . 

1.  The  Motivation  of  Disinterested  Conservatism 

2.  Characteristics  of  the  Conservative  Mind  . 

3.  The  Making  of  the  Conservative  .... 

4.  The  Methods  of  Disinterested  Conservatism 

IV.  The  Motivation  of  Interested  Conservatism 

1.  The  General  Motivation  of  Interested  Conser¬ 

vatism  . 

2.  Interested  Conservatism  in  the  Different 

Social  Classes . 

3.  Some  Psychological  and  Social  Characteristics 

of  Interested  Conservatism  .... 

V.  The  Methods  of  Interested  Conservatism  . 

VI.  The  Motivation  of  Radicalism . 

VII.  The  Origins  and  Characteristics  of  Radicalism 

1.  The  Selection  of  Progressive  and  Radical 

Types  . 

2.  Radicalism  as  an  Impulse  to  Freedom  . 

3.  Some  Characteristics  of  the  Radical  Mind  . 

VIII.  The  Methods  of  Radicalism . 

1.  Psychological  Phases  of  Radical  Method; 

Emotion  and  Blame  in  Relation  to  Radical 
Leadership . 

2.  The  Specific  Methods  of  Radicalism  . 

IX.  Scientific  Method  and  Scientific  Attitude 

1.  The  Relation  of  Scientific  Method  to  Interest 

Conflicts . 

2.  The  General  Features  of  Scientific  Method  . 

3.  Characteristics  of  the  Scientific  Attitude 

4.  Difficulties  and  Obstacles . 


page 

1 


11 

21 

21 

31 

42 

60 

61 


61 

63 

76 

82 

119 

139 


139 

145 

157 

168 


168 

181 

200 


200 

203 

215 

220 


xm 


XIV 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

X.  Individualism  and  Democracy . 252 

1.  Individualism  of  Ends  . 252 

2.  Society  as  Means . 261 

3.  Democracy . 263 

XI.  The  Ethics  of  Conservatism  and  Radicalism  .  276 

XII.  The  Present  Situation  and  the  Way  Out  .  .  294 

1.  The  Present  Situation . 294 

2.  Is  There  a  Way  Out? . 304 


Conservatism,  Radicalism,  and 
Scientific  Method 


CHAPTER  I 

INTRODUCTION 

A  man’s  point  of  view  determines  the  perspective  and  the 
light  in  which  he  looks  at  things.  The  apparent  shape  of 
an  object  depends  upon  the  direction  from  which  it  is 
viewed.  Two  individuals  looking  at  a  cylinder,  the  one  broad¬ 
side,  the  other  endwise,  would  differ  hopelessly  as  to  its  shape,  if 
they  could  not  shift  their  positions.  One  would  hold  it  to  be 
rectangular,  the  other  circular.  The  configuration  of  a  landscape 
appears  very  different  in  certain  atmospheric  conditions  than 
it  does  in  others ;  the  only  sure  way  of  knowing  what  it  actually 
is  is  to  make  an  accurate  topographical  survey  of  the  country. 
The  surveyor,  climbing  from  peak  to  peak,  threading  his  way 
from  valley  to  valley,  comes  to  know  the  real  lay  of  the  land. 
But  the  tourist  comfortably  viewing  the  landscape  from  the 
hotel  veranda  knows  only  how  it  looks  from  that  point  and 
under  the  atmospheric  conditions  of  the  day  he  happens  to  be 
there. 

It  is  much  the  same  in  human  affairs.  Appearance  and  reality 
seldom  coincide.  Our  social  viewpoint  determines  both  the  direc¬ 
tion,  the  perspective,  and  the  light  in  which  we  see  the  social 
landscape,  so  far  as  it  comes  within  our  vision  at  all. 

Some  people  think  about  social  relations  and  problems.  More 
do  not.  Many  who  do  think,  think  in  personalistic  terms  and 
only  on  problems  which  affect  them  in  some  immediately  per¬ 
sonal  way.  Most  persons,  however,  do  not  hesitate  to  entertain 
“ views”  and  express  “opinions”  on  social  issues.  In  a  minor¬ 
ity  of  cases  only  are  these  views  or  conclusions  real  opinions, 
the  result  of  logical  thinking  based  on  more  or  less  informa- 

1 


2  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

tion,  even  though  we  include  erroneous  information  and  frag¬ 
mentary  knowledge  beside  the  point.  The  vast  majority  of 
persons  have  opinons,  properly  speaking,  on  only  a  limited 
number  of  matters.  It  cannot  be  otherwise.  All  individuals, 
however,  have  sentiments  and  more  or  less  emotionally  tinctured 
beliefs,  which  have  been  either  acquired  uncritically  from 
popularly  accepted  “authorities,”  or  absorbed  unconsciously 
through  association  and  from  what  happens  to  be  “in  the  air.” 

But  whether  an  individual  thinks  or  not,  whether  his  thinking 
is  connected  and  logical  or  fragmentary  and  full  of  fallacies, 
whether  he  has  intellectually  supported  opinions  or  merely  senti¬ 
ments,  whether  he  is  credulous  or  critical,  open-minded  or  nar¬ 
rowly  prejudiced  and  intolerant,  he  has  some  viewpoint  from 
which  he  looks  out  upon  life.  He  cannot  escape  having  attitudes 
toward  the  world  of  his  experience  and  the  issues  which  come  to 
his  attention,  however  transitorily.  Judgments  and  pre-judg- 
ments  (prejudices),  sentiments,  opinions,  valuations,  estimates 
of  good  and  evil,  of  right  and  wrong,  of  expediency  and  inexpe¬ 
diency,  are  always  the  product  of  experience  (taking  the  word 
in  a  broad  sense),  which  has  determined  the  individual’s  point 
of  view  and  attitudes. 

Attitudes  and  points  of  view  are  thus  of  immense  impor¬ 
tance  in  human  affairs.  In  fact,  attitudes,  whether  regarded 
as  traits  of  personality  or  as  types  of  reaction  or  “approach” 
to  the  social  environment,  now  constitute  a  most  significant 
subject-matter  of  psychological  and  sociological  research.  Dif¬ 
ference  in  point  of  view  or  in  “feeling”  and  sentiment  may 
lead  either  to  fruitful  intellectual  stimulus,  discussion,  and 
creative  thinking,  or  to  irrepressible  class  conflicts  and  world 
wars,  with  all  their  barbarous  waste  and  brutalization.  Re¬ 
flection  upon  these  different  consequences  puts  us  in  a  position 
to  realize  that  a  careful  understanding  of  social  attitudes  has 
an  intensely  practical,  as  well  as  significant  theoretical,  bearing. 

A  thorough  study  of  viewpoints  and  attitudes  has  not  yet 
been  made,  either  by  the  psychologists  or  the  sociologists. 
Such  a  study  must  involve  consideration  of  the  nature  and 
significance  of  attitudes  in  general,  and  especially  of  those 
which  have  played  major  roles  in  history  and  cultural  devel¬ 
opment.  It  must  also  include  inductive  research  for  the  pur¬ 
pose  of  discovering  the  causes  of  the  various  attitudes  and 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


3 


analyzing  critically  and  objectively  their  respective  social 
effects.  Particular  attention  must  be  given  to  oppositions  and 
incompatabilities  between  attitudes,  and  to  the  social  and  ethi¬ 
cal  results  of  attitudinal  conflicts.1  The  present  book  under¬ 
takes  no  such  comprehensive  purpose.  We  shall  arrive  at  an 
objective  and  thorough  understanding  of  attitudes  only  through 
much  co-operative  research  on  the  part  of  all  the  social  sciences. 
In  the  present  book,  the  purpose  is  to  analyze,  as  briefly  and 
with  as  much  freedom  from  technicalities  as  is  consistent  with 
clearness,  certain  great  types  of  attitude  of  great  practical  sig¬ 
nificance  at  the  present  time. 

Every  period  of  history,  however  “ static”  it  may  appear  to 
be,  is  characterized  by  some  change  or  drift  in  social  organiza¬ 
tion  and  cultural  processes.  But  in  some  periods  change  is  so 
slow  that  it  can  be  detected  only  by  careful  historical  com¬ 
parisons,  while  in  others  it  is  so  rapid  and  violent  that  it  can 
properly  be  called  revolutionary.  Since  the  end  of  the  eigh¬ 
teenth  century  an  unchanging,  static  society  has  been  hard  to 
find  in  the  Western  World;  since  1914,  it  is  scarcely  needful 
to  say,  there  is  scarcely  a  society  of  any  importance  anywhere 
in  the  whole  world  which  is  not  experiencing  something  akin  to 
revolutionary  change.  In  both  hemispheres  there  is  a  rapidity 
and  a  depth  of  transformation,  accomplished  and  in  process, 
paralleled  in  history  only  in  such  crises  as  the  Reformation  and 
the  French  Revolution.  Such  sweeping  social  and  economic 
changes  are  taking  place  as  those  which  marked  the  break-up 
of  feudalism  and  the  march  of  the  Industrial  Revolution. 
Change  is  slower  and  less  vividly  present  to  casual  view  in  some 
countries  than  in  others.  Doubtless  it  is  likely  to  be  less  pro¬ 
nounced  and  on  the  whole  more  tardy  in  countries,  like  the 
United  States,  the  most  prosperous  and  the  least  vitally  and 
directly  touched  by  the  war.  Few  will  question,  however,  that 
even  here  significant  shiftings,  if  not  transformations,  of  thought 
and  attitude  are  in  process,  which  must  sooner  or  later  even¬ 
tuate  in  significant  modification  of  the  social  topography.  If 
one  questions  the  presence  of  a  momentum  of  social  change  in 
the  Orient,  he  has  only  to  remember  the  political  and  cultural 


1  See  J.  M.  Williams,  Principles  of  Social  Psychology ,  as  Developed 
in  a  Study  of  Economic  and  Social  Conflict ,  1922. 


4  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

transformations  going  on  in  China,  the  widespread  and  per¬ 
sistent  Nationalist  Movement  in  India,  and  the  seething  of 
political  thought  and  sentiment  in  the  Moslem  world.2 

No  period  is  free  from  attitudinal  oppositions  and  interest 
conflicts  which  ruffle  the  peace  of  society  and  the  comfort  of 
individuals.  But  without  falling  into  the  fallacy  of  superlatives 
we  may  regard  our  own  period  as  one  in  which  chaos  of  atti¬ 
tudes,  confusion  of  thought,  and  intensity  of  class  and  national¬ 
istic  conflicts  have  rarely  been  paralleled.  A  noteworthy  char¬ 
acteristic  of  the  present  historical  crisis  is  our  lively  awareness 
of  our  disorganization  and  uncertainty.  We  are  conscious  of 
the  dangers,  not  only  to  special  class,  institutional,  and  national 
interests,  but  to  civilization  itself,  involved  in  the  emotionalism, 
passion,  dogmatism,  and  intolerance  of  present  conflicts. 

If  history  may  be  conceived  broadly  to  be  characterized  by 
comparatively  quiescent  epochs  alternating  with  crises  of  change 
and  revolution,  unquestionably  we  are  now  at  one  of  history's 
great  critical  points.  All  such  crises  are  preceded  and  led  up 
to  by  slow  process  of  social  drift  and  cumulative  maladjust¬ 
ments  in  organization  and  sentiment.  Conflicts  of  interest  go 
through  an  unseen  gestation,  to  burst  into  the  world’s  con¬ 
sciousness  as  the  throes  of  a  social  revolution.  The  present 
crisis  is  no  exception.  It  is  the  inevitable  result  of  great  move¬ 
ments  and  slow  attitudinal  changes,  the  real  significance  of  which 
escaped  the  notice  of  all  but  a  few  farseeing,  analytical  minds, 
and  the  outcome  of  which  no  one  now  living  should  have  the 
temerity  to  predict.  Among  these  movements  may  be  catalogued : 
the  growth  of  natural  science  and  especially  the  application  of 
scientific  knowledge  to  industrial  technique,  the  intensification 
of  nationalism  and  the  rise  of  modem  imperialism  under  the 
stimulus  of  economic  rivalry,  the  phenomenal  spread  of  com¬ 
munication  and  education,  the  slow  drift  toward  humanitarian- 
ism — when  it  did  not  interfere  too  much  with  economic  in¬ 
terests,3 — unprecedented  expansion  of  population  and  develop¬ 
ment  of  intricate  inter-racial  contacts  through  migration,  cul- 

k. .  —  ■— 

20n  the  latter  see  Lothrop  Stoddard,  The  New  World  of  Islam,  1922. 

3If  this  seems  to  the  reader  an  unduly  cynical  aside,  let  him  recall 
the  history  of  the  struggle  for  the  abolition  of  the  English  slave  trade. 
See  for  example,  A.  W.  Benn,  Modern  England,  a  Record  of  Opinion  and 
Action  from  the  Time  of  the  French  Revolution  to  the  Present  Day , 
1908,  Vol.  I,  pp.  25-27,  50,  51,  73. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


5 


tural  and  attitudinal  modifications  incident  to  urbanization 
of  an  ever-increasing  percentage  of  the  people,  and  last  but 
not  least  that  rather  indefinite  but  momentous  movement  called 
democracy.  Such  a  complexity  of  developments,  taking  place 
in  one  short  century,  and  involving  practically  every  aspect 
of  human  life,  could  not  fail  to  create  problems  and  induce 
conflicts  beyond  the  capacity  of  the  peoples  caught  in  the  swirl 
and  impetuosity  of  their  own  cultural  flood  to  solve  peacefully, 
rationally,  and  objectively. 

So  we  have  staged  today  the  drama,  in  which  we  are  all, 
whether  we  like  it  or  not,  the  actors,  of  a  gigantic  conflict  of 
interests,  with  a  plot  of  intricately  confused  and  ill-under¬ 
stood  attitudes,  sentiments,  inherited  beliefs,  attachments 
and  loyalties ;  rebellious  iconoclasms ;  thunderous  clashes  of 
economic  institutions;  apologetic  murmurings  of  academic  phi¬ 
losophies  ;  by-play  of  ecclesiastical  dogmatism ;  and  cheap,  melo¬ 
dramatic  posings  of  self-appointed  defenders  of  the  faith  and 
guardians  of  law  and  morality.  Notwithstanding  the  seeming 
intricacy,  however,  fundamental  issues  are  clear  enough.  The 
struggle  is  not  only  between  interests,  material  and  otherwise, 
but  between  certain  outstanding  types  of  attitude  derived  from 
or  giving  force  to  the  interests. 

It  is  a  conflict  first  of  all  between  attitudes  having  to  do 
with  change  itself — a  conflict  which  runs  the  whole  scale  from 
the  most  uncompromising  reactionism  to  the  highest  pitch  of 
radicalism.  It  is  secondly  a  conflict  of  sentiments  or  valuations 
with  regard  to  distributive  justice  or  economy,  of  material 
wealth  and  income,  and  of  the  opportunities  associated  with 
them.  It  is  in  short  a  conflict  of  democracy  with  class  interest. 
In  the  third  place,  it  involves  fundamental  divergencies  of  sen¬ 
timent  or  intellectual  conviction  with  regard  to  means  and  ends 
in  human  life — a  conflict  between  individualism  and  socialism. 
And  this  conflict  doubles  back  upon  itself  when  we  remember 
that  individualism  and  socialism  can  each  be  either  a  calculus 
of  ends  or  an  organization  and  a  philosophy  of  means.4  And 


4  The  term  “socialism”  as  used  in  this  book,  unless  the  context  clearly 
indicates  otherwise,  means  social  co-operation  in  a  broad  sense,  mutual 
aid,  mutuality,  concerted  volition  and  action  for  what  a, re  commonly 
called  social  ends.  It  has  no  reference  to  any  specific  kind  of  economic 
or  political  organization. 


6  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

finally,  it  involves  what  is  perhaps  most  important  of  all,  con¬ 
trasting  and  mutually  incompatible  methods  of  conceiving  and 
evaluating  things — namely,  the  scientific  attitude  and  the  scien¬ 
tific  method,  in  contrast  to  the  attitudes  and  methods  of  the 
popular  mind,  with  its  sentimental  traditionalism,  its  wedded¬ 
ness  to  authoritarianism,  and  its  facile  formation  of  snap  judg¬ 
ments. 

Conservatism  and  radicalism,  scientific  objectivity  and  pop¬ 
ular  sentimentalism,  democracy  and  class  interest,  individual¬ 
ism  and  socialism,  do  not,  of  course,  exhaust  the  list  of  social 
attitudes.  We  might  add,  for  instance,  optimism  and  pessimism, 
courage  and  cowardice,  contentiousness  and  forbearance.  Dis¬ 
tinguishing  between  generalized  attitudes  and  attitudes  on 
special  issues,  we  might  in  the  latter  category  catalogue  nation¬ 
alism  and  internationalism,  fundamentalism  and  modernism  (as 
exemplified  by  current  theological  controversies),  federalism  and 
states’  rights,  feminism  and  anti-feminism — and  “pro”  and 
“anti”  this  and  that  to  the  end  of  the  chapter.  Such  a  list 
would  be  as  long  as  the  catalogue  of  issues,  but  it  would  serve 
no  present  practical  purpose.  The  attitudes  and  the  four-fold 
conflict  which  we  have  singled  out  above  for  analysis  are  all 
generalized  attitudes,  that  is,  attitudes  which  will  characterize 
the  individual  in  whatever  situation  he  may  be  placed  or  with 
whatever  issues  he  may  be  confronted.  Moreover,  a  calm  anal¬ 
ysis  and  objective  understanding  of  these  particular  attitudes 
seems  most  urgently  needful  at  the  present  time. 

We  may  close  these  introductory  explanations  with  a  brief 
statement  of  certain  distinctions  and  definitions  of  psychological 
terms.  Formal  definitions  of  the  terms  “attitude”  and  “sen¬ 
timent”  are  not  absolutely  essential  to  an  understanding  of 
the  chapters  which  follow,  and  the  reader  may  skip  the  rest 
of  this  chapter  if  he  so  desires.  Nevertheless  it  is  always  some 
satisfaction  to  be  clear  as  to  what  we  are  talking  about.  Be¬ 
fore  we  proceed  to  a  critical  examination  of  conservatism  and 
the  other  attitudes  which  we  are  to  consider,  it  will  be  useful 
therefore  to  state  as  accurately  as  we  can  what  we  conceive 
to  be  the  psychological  nature  of  attitudes. 

Popular  usage  of  terms  is  almost  always  undiscriminating. 
Take  the  queries,  “What  is  your  feeling  about  this  matter?” 
“What  are  your  sentiments  on  this?”  and  “What  is  your  atti- 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


7 


tude  toward  this?”  In  popular  phraseology  they  all  mean 
about  the  same  thing.  It  will  be  evident  from  what  follows, 
however,  that  useful  distinctions  can  be  made  between  ‘‘feel¬ 
ing,”  “sentiment,”  and  “attitude.” 

If  we  find  a  certain  deficiency  in  accuracy  and  refinement 
in  popular  language,  the  layman  who  turns  to  the  psychologists 
for  his  definition  of  terms  finds  accuracy  and  refinement  enough, 
volumes  in  fact,  but  unfortunately  no  widespread  and  estab¬ 
lished  agreement  upon  a  consistent  set  of  definitions  or  usage 
of  terms.  Moreover,  comparatively  few  psychologists  have  at¬ 
tempted  to  analyze  the  nature  of  sentiment,  although  an  in¬ 
creasing  number  are  inquiring  into  attitudes  as  elements  in 
temperament,  character,  and  the  complex  thing  called  person¬ 
ality.  To  add  to  the  confusion,  sociologists  are  using  the  terms 
sentiment  and  attitude  in  a  variety  of  loose  and  shifty  senses 
and  with  connotations  often  different  from  those  implied  by  the 
psychologists. 

We  shall  therefore  attempt  to  give  a  clear  and  concise  state¬ 
ment  of  the  meaning  attached  to  these  terms  in  this  book, 
without  asserting  that  our  use  will  meet  with  the  approval 
of  the  psychologists  or  please  the  sociologists.  If  the  reader  is 
thereby  helped  to  a  critical  appreciation  of  the  lines  of  thought 
in  the  succeeding  chapters,  it  is  of  secondary  import  whether 
our  definitions  and  our  conception  of  the  relation  between  emo¬ 
tion,  sentiment,  and  attitude  are  acceptable  to  him  in  other 
connections. 

Attitudes  belong  to  the  feeling  side  of  mind,  rather  than 
to  the  intellective.  If  we  start  with  feeling,  we  may  accept 
Woodworth’s  statement  that  “feeling  is  subjective  and  un¬ 
analyzed,”  or  again  that  it  is  an  “undercurrent”  or  “back¬ 
ground”  of  consciousness.5  Discarding  figurative  expressions, 
we  may  regard  feeling  as  a  quiescent  organic  state  in  which 
there  is  going  on  no  special  organic  preparation  for,  or  effort 
in,  activity,  and  no  consciousness  either  of  well-being  or  ill- 
being.  Feeling,  in  this  sense,  is  the  datum  level  from  which 
“the  feelings”  and  emotions  rise  and  fall,  like  waves  and  tides 
on  the  sea.  Between  elementary  feelings  and  emotions  the  dis¬ 
tinction  is  one  of  degree  and  complexity,  not  of  kind.  Feelings 


6  Psychology,  a  Study  of  Mental  Life,  1921,  p.  172. 


8  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

may  be  regarded  as  relatively  slight  departures  from  the  mean 
level  of  feeling.  They  are  produced  by  simple  stimuli,  not 
very  strong  and  not  very  sudden.  Emotions  are  conceived  of 
by  most  psychologists  as  a  “ moved”  or  “stirred-up,”  an  agi¬ 
tated,  state  of  mind.  By  the  large  number  of  psychologists 
who  accept  the  James-Lange  theory  of  the  emotions,  an  emo¬ 
tion  is  regarded  as  a  u  blend  of  organic  sensations,  ’  ’ 6  a  “  sudden 
complex  of  bodily  sensations  arising  from  our  instinctive  re¬ 
actions  toward  appropriate  stimuli.  ’  ’ 7  This  distinction  be¬ 
tween  feelings  and  emotions  is  doubtless  of  technical  utility 
to  the  psychologists,  but  it  is  unnecessary  for  our  purposes. 
We  shall  accordingly  mean  by  emotion  simply  differential  feel¬ 
ing,  above  or  below  the  quiescent  level,  an  affective  state  accom¬ 
panying  activity  in  response  to  stimuli  which  arouse  the  organ¬ 
ism  out  of  a  quiescent  condition. 

In  a  broad  sense  we  may  regard  an  emotion  as  a  vibration 
of  the  personality.  It  may  exist  without  any  outward  and 
visible  reaction  toward  the  stimulus  which  produces  it.  Even 
so,  with  sufficiently  delicate  instruments  its  presence  can  prob¬ 
ably  always  be  detected  in  altered  rate  or  intensity  of  organic 
functions.  An  emotion  may  thus  be  either  a  violent  agitation 
— a  veritable  symphony  of  pleasurable  experiences,  or  “  sweet 
bells  jangled  out  of  tune,  and  harsh” — or  a  relatively  mild  and 
momentary  differentiation  of  feeling,  an  evanescent  rippling 
of  the  surface  of  consciousness.  The  “tone”  of  an  emotion  is 
probably  always  one  either  of  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness, 
a  fact  which,  if  established,  is  of  significance  to  an  understand¬ 
ing  of  sentiments  and  attitudes. 

A  sentiment  is  an  emotional  complex  definitely  associated 
with  some  object — it  may  be  an  actual  present  situation  with 
the  involved  stimuli,  or  a  remembered,  imagined,  or  represented 
experience — to  which  it  is  essentially  a  value-reaction  made  on 
the  basis  of  the  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness  of  the  stimulus. 
“ Oun  sentiments, ”  as  Warren  says,  “are  generated  within  us; 
they  are  intimately  personal,  like  pain,  and  yet  they  are  ex¬ 
cited  by  something  in  the  external  stimulus. ’  ’  8  This  ‘  ‘  some- 


6  Woodworth,  p.  173. 

7  Z.  C.  Dickinson,  Economic  Motives ,  a  Study  in  the  Psychological 
Foundations  of  Economic  Theory,  1922,  p.  132. 

8H.  C.  Warren,  Elements  of  Human  Psychology ,  1922,  p.  219. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


9 


thing  ”  is  the  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness  of  the  experience, 
and  is  what  gives  to  a  sentiment  its  character  as  a  value-reac¬ 
tion.  By  value-reaction  is  meant  simply  that  the  person  is 
placing  a  value  on  the  situation  as  it  affects  his  interests. 
Valuation  is  an  estimate  of  importance,  or  utility,  and  there 
is  consequently  some  ideational  element  in  a  sentiment.9  There 
is  always  an  element  of  attraction  or  aversion  in  a  sentiment, 
a  “feeling  for”  or  a  “feeling  against.”  There  are,  of  course, 
mixed  sentiments  in  which  attraction  and  aversion  mingle.  If 
the  attractive  element  dominates,  a  sentiment  bears  a  certain 
analogy  to  a  tropism. 

One  further,  and  important,  feature  of  sentiment  must  be 
stated.  A  sentiment  is  produced  by  a  specific  object  or  situa¬ 
tion.  The  stimuli  of  this  situation,  which  constitute  the  occa¬ 
sion  of  the  sentiment,  may  be  very  simple  and  momentary,  but 
they  arouse  a  complex  of  feelings  and  give  rise  to  instant  valu¬ 
ation  (attraction  or  aversion,  praise  or  blame)  because  they 
call  into  action  memory,  imagination,  habit,  perhaps  in  fact 
the  major  part  of  the  whole  personality,  in  reaction  to  a  specific, 
immediately  presented  experience.10 

We  are  now  in  position  to  define  attitude.  An  attitude  is 
the  type  of  sentiment  which  the  individual  manifests  upon  the 
recurrence  of  a  given  situation.  It  is  a  behavior-pattern,  with 
reference  especially  to  the  “feeling”  side  of  response.  It  is, 
in  Warren’s  definition,  “a  permanent  set  of  our  mental  and 
nervous  system  which  modifies  the  effect  of  stimuli  and  deter¬ 
mines  how  we  respond.”11  Instead  of  saying,  however,  that 
the  attitude  “determines”  how  we  respond  it  would  be  more 
accurate  to  say  it  is  how  we  respond.  Since  the  valuation  ele¬ 
ment  is  so  strong  in  a  sentiment,  an  attitude  may  be  regarded 
also  as  a  type  of  valuation-response.  Knowing  an  individual’s 
sentimental  valuations  in  a  sufficiently  large  number  and  variety 
of  specific  situations,  we  can  predict  the  type  of  his  valuations 


9  Of.  Warren :  “The  prominent  elements  in  the  sentiment  of  beauty 
are  a  feeling  and  an  idea  of  value”  (p.  219).  “The  value  idea  is  espe¬ 
cially  prominent  in  sentiments,  a  belief  is  partly  an  idea  of  the  worth  of 
some  statement,  partly  a  feeling”  (p.  219). 

10  This  is  in  substantial  accordance  with  A.  F.  Shand’s  conception  of 
sentiments  as  complexes  of  emotions.  See  his  Foundations  of  Character , 
1914,  Ch.  4. 

11  Elements  of  Human  Psychology ,  1922,  p.  332. 


10  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

— his  attitudes — in  any  new  situation.  Attitudes  are  thus 
sentiment-patterns.  When  we  say  that  an  individual  is  char¬ 
acterized  by  a  conservative  attitude  we  mean  that  we  expect 
him  to  manifest  a  certain  type  of  sentiment,  1  ‘  for  ’  ’  or 
“against,”  in  a  large  variety  of  specifically  different  situations. 
He  is  likely  to  be  “for”  familiar  food,  the  Monroe  Doctrine, 
strict  and  uniform  divorce  laws,  a  literally  inspired  Bible,  and 
in  general  against  the  new  and  the  unfamiliar.  Similarly  if  a 
man  has  thoroughly  accepted  the  scientific  attitude  we  know 
that  under  no  conditions  will  he  jump  to  conclusions  on  hear¬ 
say,  express  dogmatic  “opinions”  without  knowledge,  or  give 
way  to  the  emotional  reactions  of  the  crowd.  If  we  know  a 
person’s  sentiment-patterns,  that  is,  his  attitudes,  we  can  pre¬ 
dict,  at  least  roughly,  his  reaction  in  any  particular  situation. 

Moreover,  since  the  action  of  the  group  is  that  of  its  mem¬ 
bers,  as  influenced  by  its  leaders,  a  knowledge  of  attitudes  is 
essential  to  predicting  the  policy  and  action  of  the  group.  Un¬ 
derstanding  of  attitudes  is  thus  of  great  practical  utility,  both 
for  the  individual  who  wishes  to  “manage”  others  to  his  own 
purposes,  and  for  him  who  desires  to  lead  or  persuade  others 
to  act  for  the  best  interests  of  society.  A  study  of  sentiments 
and  attitudes  is  thus  bound  to  be  a  very  important  part  of  all 
applied  psychology. 

Further,  an  understanding  of  attitudes  is  of  incalculable  value 
to  the  individual  who  has  arrived  at  a  stage  of  culture  an'd 
courage  where  he  wishes  honestly  to  face  and  to  know  him¬ 
self.  Unremitting  introspection  and  self-analysis  is  a  morbid 
trait.  A  critical  awareness,  however,  of  the  nature  and  causes 
of  one’s  own  impulses,  sentiments,  attitudes,  and  points  of  view 
may  at  times  be  a  salutary  asset. 


CHAPTER  II 


CONSERVATISM  AND  RADICALISM — DEFINITIONS  AND  DISTINCTIONS 

Many  years  ago,  Walter  Bagehot1 11  showed  how  necessary 
it  is  for  every  social  group  to  acquire  what  he  called 
a  shell  of  custom — some  form  and  organization  of  au¬ 
thority  which  shall  hold  the  group  together  in  physical  and 
spiritual  solidarity  and  curb  the  self-will  of  individuals  who 
might  endanger  the  co-operative  cohesion  and  defensive  powers 
of  the  group.  But,  as  Bagehot  goes  on  to  suggest,  once  this 
shell  of  custom  is  set,  it  has  sooner  or  later  to  be  smashed, 
else  it  stifles  growth  and  strangles  the  intellectual  and  moral 
evolution  of  the  very  society  it  was  designed  to  serve.  As  a 
rule,  when  the  provocation  has  become  sufficiently  great,  men 
have  risen  who  have  not  been  lacking  in  the  necessary  courage 
and  strength  of  character  to  undertake  the  task.  Always,  in¬ 
deed,  there  have  been  would-be  shell-smashers,  men  who  rebelled 
inwardly  or  outwardly,  and  frequently  with  violence,  against 
the  particular  controls  and  institutions  imposed  upon  them  by 
historical  accretion,  by  the  passive,  non-resistant  indifference  of 
the  phlegmatic  or  repressed  masses,  and  by  the  special  inter¬ 
ests  of  powerful  individuals  or  classes. 

Thus  sponsors  of  things-as-they-are  and  advocates  of  change, 
modification,  and  transformation  are  always  set  over  against 
one  another  in  an  attitudinal  and  active  conflict.  The  intensity 
of  this  conflict  depends  both  upon  the  psychological  tempera¬ 
ment  and  character  of  the  two  groups,  conservative  and  radical, 
and  upon  the  degree  of  divergence  or  opposition  of  their 
respective  interests. 

The  scale  of  attitudes  which  different  men  and  women  take 
toward  social  change  may  be  compared  to  the  solar  spectrum. 
At  the  opposite  ends  stand  extreme  radicalism  and  uncompro¬ 
mising  reaction.  Between  these  extremes  are  conservatism  and 


1  Physics  and  Politics ,  1873,  Ch.  1. 

11 


12  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

liberalism,  or  progressivism,  each  with  its  various  degrees  of 
intensity  and  its  shading  into  the  adjacent  attitudes.  Thus  the 
attitudinal  spectrum  reads,  from  left  to  right,  radicalism,  liber¬ 
alism  or  progressivism,  conservatism,  reactionism.  Like  the 
colors  in  the  solar  spectrum  these  attitudes  grade  each  into 
the  next  so  gradually  that  it  is  impossible  to  draw  a  sharp  line 
between  any  contiguous  two. 

Conservatism,  generally  speaking,  is  simply  that  system  of 
sentiments,  that  mental  attitude,  which  causes  the  individual 
to  accept  with  equanimity  and  approval  things-as-they-are  (or 
would  be  if  liberals  and  radicals  would  only  let  them  alone), 
which  desires  little  if  any  change,  and  which  opposes  with 
vigor  any  proposal  for  radical  transformation.  The  conserva¬ 
tive  does  not  so  much  oppose  relatively  innocuous  temporizing 
and  tinkering  with  unimportant  social  details.  He  does  not 
so  much  resist  the  evolutionary  drift  which  may  mean  in  the 
long  run  very  significant  transformations,  to  which,  indeed, 
he  is  ordinarily  oblivious.  In  its  purest  form  conservatism  op¬ 
poses  thorough-going  and  consciously  conceived  and  directed 
reform  or  revolution  having  to  do  with  the  more  fundamental 
aspects  of  thought,  economic  organization,  and  social  relations. 
Conservatism,  if  it  could  have  its  way,  would  thus  stand  still, 
maintaining  social  relations  and  processes,  thought,  belief,  and 
culture  practically  as  they  happen  to  be  at  the  time.  It  would 
resist  on  the  one  hand  the  innovations  of  progressive  and  radi¬ 
cal,  and  on  the  other,  with  perhaps  a  little  less  enthusiasm,  the 
reversionary  ideals  of  the  reactionary. 

With  reactionism  the  conservative  is  not  in  accord,  because 
reactionism  advocates  a  return  to  some  previously  current  but 
now  abandoned  mode  of  thought  and  system  of  organization. 
The  reversion  advocated  by  the  reactionary  is  distasteful  to  the 
conservative  because  it  wmdd  mean  a  change  in  existing  rela¬ 
tions  and  activities  which  would  interfere  with  his  habituation 
and  attachment  to  things-as-they-are.  Nevertheless  the  thor¬ 
ough  conservative  is  more  nearly  related  to  the  reactionary 
than  to  the  radical.  Conservatism  is  opposed  to  radical  thought 
and  action,  and  is  antipathetic  to  liberalism,  because  the  con¬ 
servative  is  not  only  averse  to  change  of  any  significant  kind  but 
has  a  lively  fear  of  the  new  and  unfamiliar.  Both  the  intro¬ 
duction  of  new  and  unfamiliar  arrangements  and  a  return  to 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


13 


some  previously  existing  order  involve  change  and  hence  more 
or  less  disturbance  of  established  habits  and  points  of  view. 
Both  entail  discomfort  to  the  conservative,  therefore,  but  the 
proposals  of  the  reactionary  are  likely  to  seem  less  subversive 
than  those  of  the  radical,  although  as  a  matter  of  fact  they 
may  be  quite  as  much  so.  The  conservative  does  not  want  the 
existing  shell  of  custom  smashed  or  even  appreciably  bent, 
but  if  its  form  is  to  be  modified  at  all  he  would  rather  go  with 
the  reactionary  back  to  the  once  tried  and  once  familiar  than 
with  the  radical  and  his  innovations. 

Progressivism  stands  midway  between  conservatism  and  radi¬ 
calism  and  partakes  of  the  milder  characteristics  of  both.  The 
progressive  welcomes  and  works  for  orderly  and  gradual  changes 
which  can  be  brought  about  by  planned  endeavor  and  the  con¬ 
scious  direction  of  social  evolution.  He  is  not  so  deeply  habitu¬ 
ated  to  things-as-they-are  as  is  the  conservative  nor  character¬ 
ized  by  the  irrational  fear  of  change  which  marks  so  many 
timid  temperaments.  But  progressivism  is  not  devoid  of  fear. 
It  fears  the  disruptiveness  and  discontinuity  of  radicalism. 
Where  the  radical  would  smash  the  existing  shell  and  substi¬ 
tute  another,  the  progressive  would  rebuild  it  piecemeal,  and 
in  this  process  of  gradual  reconstruction  remodel  its  form  and 
content. 

The  progressive  holds,  in  other  words,  that  however  rapidly 
human  advance  may  be  accelerated  by  innovative  initiative  and 
radical  direction,  it  must  nevertheless  be  evolutionary  and  con¬ 
tinuous.  The  future  must  grow  out  of  the  present,  as  the  pres¬ 
ent  has  come  from  the  past,  by  a  “ natural,’ ’  orderly  process 
of  development,  not  through  those  sudden  jumps  and  changes 
of  direction,  those  “ discontinuous  variations/’  to  borrow  a  bio¬ 
logical  term,  which  constitute  social  revolutions. 

Progressivism  is,  of  course,  vigorously  if  not  bitterly  opposed 
to  reactionism,  but  it  is  almost  as  bitterly  opposed  to  extreme 
radicalism;  as,  indeed,  moderate  radicalism  is  frequently  also. 
While  advanced  progressivism  can  hardly  be  distinguished  from 
mild  or  moderate  radicalism,  we  may  say  that  in  general  the 
progressive  is  averse  to  radicalism  because  he  shares  with  the 
conservative  a  strong  sense  of  order,  a  high  valuation  of  past 
experience,  and  a  firm  conviction  in  the  stability  and  unchange¬ 
ableness  of  human  nature.  Moreover,  where  special  interests, 


14  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

economic  or  otherwise,  are  at  stake  the  progressive,  like  the 
conservative,  may  fear  the  results  of  radical  change  upon  the 
interests  of  himself  and  his  class. 

Liberalism  in  a  general  sense  is  practically  synonymous  with 
progressivism,  though  the  term  may  connote  a  slightly  less 
aggressive  attitude  than  is  commonly  associated  with  progress¬ 
ivism. 

More  specifically,  current  usage  applies  the  term  liberal  to 
those  who,  though  they  break  with  conservatism  and  hold  re¬ 
actionism  in  contempt,  still  contend  that  the  main  contours  of 
our  present  political,  economic,  and  social  life  are,  if  not  ideal, 
at  least  better  than  anything  to  be  looked  for  through  revolu¬ 
tion  or  the  quick  transformations  demanded  by  the  radical. 
The  liberal  may  hold,  speculatively,  that  in  ultimate  ideal  our 
present  mode  of  life  and  social  organization  will  be  regarded 
by  the  peoples  of  the  distant  future  as  just  as  crude,  inefficient, 
and  inhuman  as  we  now  regard  the  life  of  our  wholly  bar¬ 
barous  forebears;  and  yet  he  will  reject  radical  reform  or 
revolution  on  technological  and  especially  on  psychological 
grounds.  His  attitude,  and  there  is  much  to  be  said  for  it, 
both  from  the  standpoint  of  scientific  psychology  and  from 
any  rationalist’s  observation  of  human  nature  in  everyday  life, 
is  summarized  in  the  sentiment:  “Yes,  all  that  would  be  very 
good  and  attractive  if  human  nature  were  different,  but  it 
isn’t.”  When  it  comes  to  the  extreme  speculative  idealism  of 
a  humanistic  philosophical  anarchist  like  Bertrand  Russell,  that 
is  the  inevitable  sentiment  of  all  parties,  from  reactionary  to 
socialistic  radical — and  doubtless  of  Mr.  Russell  himself. 

In  a  still  narrower  sense,  the  liberal  of  today,  like  the  eco¬ 
nomic  and  political  liberals  of  England  and  France  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  is  one  who  regards  free  competition,  pri¬ 
vate  initiative,  and  political  government  in  the  forms  sup¬ 
posedly  crystallized  in  the  English  or  American  system  as  ap¬ 
proximately  ideal.  He  is  naturally  averse  to  reforms  leading 
to  government  ownership  or  to  socialism  and  to  more  govern¬ 
mental  control  than  is  essential  to  that  somewhat  traditional 
and  elusive  thing,  free  competition.2 

2  Perhaps  the  best  brief  presentation  of  this  type  of  liberalism  is 
Woodrow  Wilson’s  The  New  Freedom,  1913.  Contrast,  for  example, 
M.  P.  Follett’s  The  Neio  State,  1920.  Bryce’s  Modern  Democracies,  2 
vols.,  1921,  is  also  suggestive. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


15 


The  more  a  term  is  on  everybody’s  lips  the  harder  it  is  to 
define  it.  This  is  particularly  true  of  the  word  “ radicalism.” 
Etymology,  as  usual,  gives  us  little  help.  The  dictionary  defini¬ 
tions  are  figurative  and  hazy.  About  all  they  tell  us  is  that 
“radical”  and  “radicalism”  carry  the  double  connotation  of 
change  and  thoroughness.  But  so  may  “reactionism.”  Radi¬ 
calism  and  reactionism  merely  idealize  and  advocate  change  in 
diametrically  opposite  directions,  the  one  toward  the  old,  the 
other  toward  the  new.  Radicalism  means  innovation;  reaction¬ 
ism  suggests,  literally,  re-novation,  a  bringing  back  and  renew¬ 
ing  of  the  old. 

We  may  define  radicalism  as  the  attitude  of  those  who  desire 
and  advocate  speedy,  deep,  and  thoroughgoing  innovative  re¬ 
form  or  revolution,  either  in  regard  to  certain  aspects  of  social 
relations  and  processes  or  to  the  whole  social  order. 

As  both  social  evolution  and  social  revolution  have,  on  the 
whole,  during  the  modern  period,  led  toward  political  and 
social  democracy  and  awa}r  from  absolutism,  authoritarianism, 
and  class  privilege,  radicalism  has  been,  is  at  present,  and  for 
a  long  time  will  continue  to  be  directed  to  the  project  of  secur¬ 
ing  rapid,  accelerated  democratization.  If  applied  to  a  case 
of  extreme  economic  radicalism  like  the  bolshevist  regime  in 
Russia,  this  statement  might  be  regarded  as  humorous,  in  view 
of  the  autocratic  methods  of  Lenine  and  Trotsky.  The  bol¬ 
shevist  reply  is,  of  course,  that  these  methods  are  merely  a 
necessary  temporary  expedient  in  the  service  of  ultimate  de¬ 
mocracy.  Final  proof  of  the  validity  or  falsity  of  this  excuse 
lies  only  in  the  future. 

It  should  be  noted  that  there  may  be  two  radicalisms,  both 
visioning  thoroughgoing  innovation,  which  point  in  different  if 
not  opposed  directions.  Socialism  and  anarchism,  for  illustra¬ 
tion,  agree  only  in  wishing  the  abolition  of  the  present  social 
system;  further  than  this  they  have  little  in  common,  for 
anarchism,  very  credulous  as  to  the  innate  goodness  and  rea¬ 
sonableness  of  man,  would  abolish  all  coercive  forms  of  social 
control,3  while  socialism,  with  less  childlike  faith  in  human  per¬ 
fectibility  and  greater  practical  insight  into  the  difficulties  of 
economic  organization,  looks  forward,  generally  speaking,  to  a 
very  material  increase  in  the  amount  and  effectiveness  of  social 


3  Cf.,  for  example,  Bertrand  Russell,  Proposed  Roads  to  Freedom ,  1919. 


16  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

control  over  the  actions  of  the  individual.  Much  the  same  kind 
of  opposition  exists  between  moderate  socialism  and  communism. 
In  England,  in  the  first  third  of  the  nineteenth  century,  two 
radicalisms,  Cobdenism  (free  trade,  laissez  faire)  and  social¬ 
ism,  were  similarly  opposed,  though  they  were  in  agreement 
in  demanding  the  abolition  of  the  traditional,  Tory  mercantilist 
economic  policies.4 

In  English  politics  the  term  “radical”  was  originally  an 
opprobrious  epithet  applied  by  aristocratic  Tory  reactionists  to 
a  group  of  liberals  who  did  not  regard  the  Reform  Bill  of  1832 
as  the  last  word  in  the  extension  of  the  parliamentary  fran¬ 
chise. 

Since  the  world  war  there  has  been  a  noteworthy,  and  in  some 
quarters,  successful,  attempt,  to  revive  this  opprobrious  use 
of  the  term.  The  attempt  has  been  especially  general  in  the 
United  States,  where  the  tendency  seems  to  many  liberals  to 
be  less  strong  toward  real  democracy  than  it  is  in  Eng¬ 
land. 

The  central  social  conflict  of  today  is  without  doubt  the  con¬ 
flict  of  economic  interests.  This  struggle  is  waged  along  two 
intersecting  planes,  one  of  class,  the  other  of  nationalistic  in¬ 
terests.  In  these  respective  planes  the  conservative  and  re¬ 
actionary  positions  are  held  by  the  capitalistic  employing  class 
and  the  nationalists,  while  the  extreme  radical  positions  are  held 
by  those  who  aim  at  some  form  of  comprehensive  economic  col¬ 
lectivism  and  in  general  are  advocates  of  internationalism.  This 
alignment  is  by  no  means  mere  accident,  but  is  the  historical 
and  the  logical  result  of  the  conflict  of  interests  involved.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  however,  capitalistic,  corporate  reactionism 
stands  in  determined  defense  against  the  massed  attacks  of 
radical  collectivist  internationalism.  Thus  it  becomes  easy  to 
associate  “patriotism”  and  “loyalty”  with  capitalism  and  na¬ 
tionalism,  while  “radicalism”  is'  made  to  carry  the  strong 
implication  of  crossing  over  into  disloyalty  (pro-Germanism  dur¬ 
ing  the  war)  and  into  socialism  or  “bolshevism.”  By  this 
process  of  associative  emotionalism,  consciously  aided  and  stimu¬ 
lated  by  a  none  too  scrupulous  system  of  well-financed  propa- 

4  Leslie  Stephen,  The  English  Utilitarians,  1900,  Vol.  Ill,  p.  38.  As  to 
the  radical  democrats  in  England  from  1820  to  1870,  see  Bryce,  Modern 
Democracies,  1921,  Vol.  II,  p.  568. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


17 


ganda,  ‘ 1  radicalism  ’ ’  and  ‘  ‘  bolshevism  ’  ’  have  been  made  to 
mean  practically  the  same  thing  to  the  average  business  man, 
and  to  many  others,  and  that  something  a  thing  to  be  dreaded 
and  fought  against  by  every  available  means. 

That  this  uncritical  usage  is  unfortunate,  entirely  apart  from 
the  respective  merits  of  capitalism  and  socialism  or  of  nation¬ 
alism  and  internationalism,  a  moment’s  reflection  will  show. 
In  the  first  place  such  usage  is  the  result  of  combative  emo¬ 
tionalism  and  intolerance,  and  these  sentiments  rarely  if  ever 
advance  the  cause  either  of  truth  or  of  human  welfare.  In 
the  second  place  such  a  narrowing  of  the  connotation  of  the 
term  radical  deprives  it  of  significance  outside  the  field  of  the 
economic  and  political  struggles.  This  leaves  us  without  a  term 
to  denote  the  thoroughgoing  innovative  attitude  in  other  phases 
of  human  life,  for  example  in  religion,  ethics,  and  art. 

A  still  weightier  reason  against  this  popular  usage  is  that 
by  no  means  all  the  individuals  who  advocate  really  radical 
measures  or  thoroughgoing  innovation  in  some  particular  field 
of  human  activity,  even  in  the  economic,  are  socialists,  or  inter¬ 
nationalists,  much  less  communists  or  bolshevists.  We  should 
hardly  withhold  the  term  radical  from  the  staunch  single-taxer ; 
from  the  advocates  of  the  abolition  of  the  United  States  Senate 
or  the  Supreme  Court;  or  those  who  would  initiate  a  wide- 
reaching  system  of  governmental  price  regulation,  divorce  by 
mutual  consent,  or  compulsory  education  of  every  normal  boy 
and  girl  to  the  age  of  eighteen.  Each  of  these  is  (or  would 
be)  but  a  limited  radicalism,  that  is,  radicalism  applicable  to 
only  a  single  part  or  phase  of  our  social  organization.  Never¬ 
theless,  within  the  scope  of  its  interest,  attention,  and  design, 
each  is  just  as  truly  radical  as  is  socialism  or  internationalism. 
It  can  hardly  be  said  that  the  Eighteenth  Amendment  and  the 
Volstead  Act  were  not  radical  innovations.  Curiously  enough, 
however,  popular  usage  has  not  taken  to  calling  the  prohibi¬ 
tionists  socialists. 

There  is,  then,  in  every  field  of  human  sentiment,  thought, 
and  action,  a  continuous  gradation  of  attitude  from  reaction¬ 
ism  to  radicalism.  The  terms  conservatism  and  radicalism, 
therefore,  should  always  be  regarded  as  relative,  both  to  each 
other  and  to  the  standards  of  valuation  or  sentiment  current 
at  the  time.  What  appears  to  one  person,  or  at  a  given  time, 


18  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

or  in  a  given  place,  extreme  radicalism  may  be  to  another  per¬ 
son  or  in  another  time  or  place  hidebound  conservatism.  As 
there  are  degrees  of  conservatism,  so  there  are  gradations  in 
radicalism.  Comprehensive  radicalism  is  revolutionary  in 
thought  and  purpose.  In  method  it  may  be  either  revolutionary 
or  reformist.  Less  comprehensive  or  thoroughgoing  radicalism 
may  be  reformist  (as  distinguished  from  revolutionary)  in  both 
aim  and  method.  In  general,  history  shows  fairly  well  that  the 
radicalism  of  today  becomes  the  liberalism  and  progressivism  of 
tomorrow  and  the  conservatism  of  the  day  after.  When  the 
aims  of  the  radicals  of  a  particular  epoch  are  accomplished 
they  usually  become  conservatives.  But  however  rapidly  sen¬ 
timents  and  standards  of  valuation  may  shift,  the  radicalism 
at  any  time  existent  is  always  an  attitude  which  demands  thor¬ 
oughgoing  change,  through  conscious  innovation. 

It  may  be  suggested  that  a  distinction  should  be  made  be¬ 
tween  radical  desires  and  innovative  impulses.  In  the  absence 
of  such  distinction  all  innovators,  like  the  inventors,  Edison  or 
Bell  or  Westinghouse,  all  creators  of  new  architectural  styles, 
all  those  who  introduce  new  models  in  art  or  literature,  would 
have  to  be  classified  as  radicals.  It  might  be  convenient  to 
think  of  thoroughgoing  innovation  as  radical  only  when  advo¬ 
cated  or  carried  out  against  opposition.  Radicalism  would  then 
be  defined  as  desire  for  thoroughgoing  innovation  which  is 
opposed  by  conservative  objection  and  obstruction.  While  this 
distinction  is  logical  enough,  it  has  more  academic  than  prac¬ 
tical  significance,  as  will  be  shown  later. 

Distinction  between  thought  or  theory  and  action  should  be 
kept  in  mind — a  distinction  somewhat  more  significant  in  radi¬ 
calism  than  in  conservatism.  Conservative  sentiment  and  con¬ 
servative  conduct  may  coincide  without  excessive  expenditure 
of  energy.  On  the  other  hand  radical  sentiment  or  theory  may 
not  produce  radical  action,  because  such  action  means  not  only 
doing  something  new,  but  doing  it  against  the  whole  weight  of 
conservative  inertia  and  perhaps  against  the  violent  opposition 
of  interested  reactionism.  Moreover,  radicalism  is  in  a  sense 
a  less  “natural”  attitude  than  conservatism,  because  the  radical 
not  only  has  to  meet  the  pressure  of  conservative  inertia  and 


*  Pages  132,  133. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


19 


reactionary  opposition  of  other  persons,  but  also  to  overcome 
the  conservative  tendencies  of  his  own  nature. 

Keturning  to  the  other  end  of  the  attitudinal  spectrum,  we 
find  that  some  conservatism  is  the  expression  of  sincere  and 
relatively  unselfish  conviction,  that  most  conservatism  is  the 
product  of  mere  habit  and  uncritical  fear,  and  that  not  a  little 
of  it  is  thoroughly  selfish  in  its  motivation  and  insincere  in 
its  expression  and  reasoning.  So  far  as  conservatism  is  the 
product  of  conscious  motivation,  two  primary  motives  prompt 
it:  the  one  is  selfish,  material  interest,  economic  or  otherwise, 
in  the  established  order  of  things ;  the  other  is  a  temperamental 
attachment  to  things-as-they-are.  This  attachment  may  or  may 
not  be  productive  of  good  or  logically  justifiable.  Neverthe¬ 
less,  the  individual  always  finds,  if  forced  to  seek  them,  what 
seem  to  him  good  and  sufficient  reasons  for  such  attachment, 
and  hence  for  the  essential  propriety  and  rightness  of  the 
things — the  ideas,  beliefs,  institutions,  and  relations — to 
which  he  is  attached.  Sometimes  his  reasoning  possesses 
objective  scientific  validity,  but  it  is  quite  as  likely  to  be 
the  type  of  reasoning  for  self-defense  and  self-justification 
which  the  psychoanalysts  call  “  rationalization,  ”  that  is,  casu¬ 
istry. 

Because  of  this  fundamental  difference  in  motivation  it  is 
desirable,  in  an  attempt  to  analyze  the  motives  and  character¬ 
istics  of  the  conservative  attitude,  to  distinguish  what  we  may 
call,  for  want  of  better  terms,  interested  conservatism  and  dis¬ 
interested  conservatism.  Interested  conservatism  is  motivated 
by  narrowly  selfish,  egotistical,  individual  or  class  interests. 
The  interested  conservative  invariably  has  an  ax  to  grind,  and 
it  is  distinctly  his  own.  The  motivation  of  disinterested  con¬ 
servatism,  on  the  other  hand,  is  due  not  to  the  calculating 
quality  of  the  “  narrower  selfishness  ’  ’  or  of  conscious  class  in¬ 
terest,  but  rather  to  the  pervasive  influence  of  the  instinct 
of  fear,  and  of  association,  imitation,  habit,  and  adaptation.  It 
is  thus  both  temperamental  and  characteristic.6  Both  interested 
and  disinterested  conservatism  may  be  observed  in  the  same 


"JJroadly  speaking,  psychology  calls  traits  which  the  individual  pos¬ 
sesses  by  reason  of  organically  inherited  instincts  or  tendencies  “tem¬ 
peramental,”  those  which  result  from  environmental  influence,  “charac¬ 
teristic.” 


20  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

individual,  and  they  shade  into  each  other  in  a  manner  which 
makes  too  sharp  a  distinction  between  them  erroneous. 

In  a  very  fundamental  psychological  and  ethical  sense,  it 
may  be  argued  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  disinterested  con¬ 
servatism  ;  or  from  the  standpoint  of  conscious  motivation  only, 
a  disinterested  attitude  of  any  kind,  since  we  assume  those 
attitudes  which  correspond  to  our  strongest  habits,  desires,  and 
interests.  Any  attitude  may  in  this  sense  be  regarded  not  only 
as  the  expression  of  the  nature  of  the  person,  but  as  a  servant 
to  the  functioning  of  his  personality.  Whether  we  have  quick 
and  sensitive  sympathy,  or  are  insensitive  and  unsympathetic; 
and  whether  we  are  broadly  intelligent  in  finding  our  own 
happiness  in  conjunction  with  that  of  others,  or  are  directly, 
narrowly,  and  unintelligently  selfish,  it  may  be  maintained 
(again  so  far  as  conscious  motivation  is  concerned)  that  we 
always  do  those  things  which,  under  the  circumstances  present 
to  our  appreciation,  we  deem  will  give  us  the  most  satisfaction.7 
We  are  not  concerned  at  this  point,  however,  with  this  broader, 
deterministic,  and  somewhat  unconventional  conception  of  self- 
interest.  Whether  all  conduct  be  found  in  the  last  analysis  to 
be  self-centered  or  not,  the  practical  fact  remains  that  some 
people  are  temperamentally  conservative  and  other  conservatives 
are  primarily  so  from  conscious  motives  of  material  self-inter¬ 
est  in  the  narrow  sense.  And  this  distinction  proves  significant 
and  essential  to  an  attempt  fairly  and  objectively  to  analyze 
the  psychology  of  conservatism  and  the  influence  of  conserv¬ 
atism  upon  social  ideals  and  social  achievement. 

7  No  crude  hedonism  is  implied  by  this  statement.  It  is  not  assumed 
that  all  human  motivation,  or  even  the  major  part  of  it,  is  conscious, 
or  that  all  conscious  motivation  is  intelligent. 


CHAPTER  III 


DISINTERESTED  CONSERVATISM 

1.  The  Motivation  of  Disinterested  Conservatism 

The  motivation  of  disinterested  conservatism  boils  down 
to  fear  and  habit.  All  conservatism,  both  interested  and 
disinterested,  is  essentially  a  safety-first  attitude.  Its 
root  is  desire  for  security.  This  desire  is  in  great  part  the 
result  of  cultural  contacts  and  training  in  conformity  to  the 
demands  of  the  social  environment,  but  it  undoubtedly  has 
also  a  very  deep-seated  instinctive  or  temperamental  root.  In 
interested  conservatism  the  desire  for  security  is  consciously 
centered  upon  specific  ends  or  values — the  maintenance  of  prop¬ 
erty  rights,  keeping  one’s  job,  and  upholding  by  hook  or  crook 
the  social  controls  by  which  these  established  rights  and  privi¬ 
leges  are  secured  against  the  threats  and  dangers  of  social 
change.  In  disinterested  conservatism,  the  desire  for  security 
is  less  consciously  formed,  although  it  is  no  less  real.  Here 
it  is  nearer  the  level  of  inherited  temperament,  broader  and 
more  varied  in  its  content,  and  less  definitely  associated  with 
specific  interests. 

The  safety  which  the  disinterested  conservative  desires — even 
though  he  may  not  consciously  formulate  his  wish — is  security 
in  the  wonted  performance  of  his  habitual  routine  of  activity. 
Grant  him  to  possess  a  certain  range  of  inherited  aptitudes, 
modified  and  developed  by  individual  training,  or  compressed 
by  social  pressure  into  a  more  or  less  stereotyped  character, 
such  an  individual  finds  this  security  when  the  social  environ¬ 
ment  in  which  and  to  which  he  has  been  adapted  is  maintained 
without  sudden  or  substantial  change.  For  in  such  an  environ¬ 
ment  and  in  no  other,  he  functions  freely  and  agreeably, 
through  habit. 

Disinterested  conservatism  is  thus  not  entirely,  or  even 
mainly,  a  rational  attitude.  It  is,  the  rather,  a  matter  of  sen¬ 
timent,  both  in  the  popular,  and  in  the  technical  sense  of  the 

21 


22  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

term.  It  is  characterized  and  motivated  by  sentiment  in  the 
popular  sense  of  the  word  because  it  is  essentially  a  “  senti¬ 
mental’  ’  attachment  to  things-as-they-are.  Examples  a  plenty 
will  occur  to  the  reader,  for  the  conservative  frequently  opposes 
change  which  he  admits  might  be  desirable  on  rational  grounds, 
because  sentiments  dear  to  the  heart  attach  to  the  old  and 
familiar  thing.  No  one,  in  fact,  is  free  from  this  type  of  con¬ 
servative  sentiment.  More  significantly,  however,  conservatism 
is  a  matter  of  sentiment  in  the  technical  sense,  namely  pleasant 
feeling  in  the  presence  of  a  familiar  environment  plus  some 
idea  of  its  value.1  Sentiment  in  this  sense  of  a  valuation  is 
felt  in  the  presence  of  the  familiar  object  or  situation;  just 
because  the  individual  feels  at  home  in  it,  is  oriented,  and  can 
respond  to  it  with  the  ease  of  habituation,  the  situation  is  valued 
highly. 

This  sense  of  wontedness  and  smooth  functioning  of  capaci¬ 
ties  may  under  certain  conditions  be  regarded  as  the  pleasant 
feeling  which  results  from  self-expression  in  work.  It  is  prob¬ 
ably  unnecessary  to  single  it  out  as  an  “instinct”  of  work¬ 
manship,  to  use  Veblen’s  expression,  but  certainly  every  worker 
not  too  thoroughly  mechanized  by  modern  division  of  labor 
and  scientific  management  has  a  pride  in  work  well  done ; 
and  he  knows  that  he  cannot  do  his  accustomed  work  well  and 
easily  in  a  new  and  unfamiliar  milieu .  The  worker  not  en¬ 
dowed  with  extraordinary  originality  and  adaptability  there¬ 
fore  clings  conservatively  to  the  standards  and  traditions  of 
his  craft.  Man  is  not,  of  course,  unique  in  this  disposition  to 
security.  All  animals,  when  not  under  the  stimulus  of  some 
counteracting  instinctive  emotional  complex,  such  as  the  mating 
instinct  or  the  sentiments  of  maternity,  exhibit  this  trait  in 
their  behavior.  For  the  impulse  to  seek  safety  is  a  fundamental 
prerequisite  to  the  preservation  of  the  life  of  the  individual. 
In  man  the  desire  for  security  is,  on  occasion,  counterbalanced 
not  only  by  the  essential  instinctive  complexes  involved  in  mat¬ 
ing,  food  getting,  and  protecting  the  young,  and  in  some  cases 
by  desire  for  adventure  and  the  like,  but  by  powerful  group 
sentiments  such  as  the  glory  of  martyrdom  or  the  discipline, 
the  elan,  the  hypnosis,  of  group  morale  in  combat.  The 


JCf.  H.  C.  Warren,  Elements  of  Human  Psychology ,  1922,  pp.  219,  298. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  23 

moment  the  occasion  of  combat  or  exposure  to  danger  is  past, 
however,  man,  like  other  animals,  seeks  safety. 

Man  thus  comes  by  the  conservative  attitude  naturally.  He 
gets  it  from  his  ancestors  who  practiced  it  for  countless  gen¬ 
erations,  back  to  the  time  when  the  first  bit  of  living  proto¬ 
plasm  stretched  out  toward  food  and  shrank  back  from  foreign 
substances.  It  is  bred  in  the  bone.  But  its  hold  upon  him 
goes  beyond  that.  It  is  more  than  mechanical  reflex  in  any 
simple  sense.  For  with  the  development  of  the  power  of  mem¬ 
ory  and  ideation,  of  emotional  association,  and  of  reflective 
thought,  the  [idea  of  security  has  been  caught  up  and  made  the 
center  and  locus  of  the  conservative  sentiments.  Security  has 
become  a  value,  a  state  to  which  a  conscious  significance  and  im¬ 
portance  is  attached.  And  through  the  agreement  of  individual 
valuations — an  agreement  based  partly  on  the  similarity  of  in¬ 
dividual  needs  and  inherited  temperament,  partly  on  social  pres¬ 
sure  of  various  kinds,  it  has  become  a  social  value — an  idea  or 
a  state  with  a  utility  which  is  collectively  recognized  not  only 
for  the  individual  but  for  the  group. 

Not  only  is  conservatism  indicative  that  an  adjustment,  a 
working  relation,  has  been  established  between  the  individual 
and  his  environment;  it  is  also,  as  we  shall  see,  the  product 
of  a  prolonged  and  complex  process  of  adaptation  which  has 
resulted  in  more  or  less  complete  habituation  and  attachment. 
In  other  words,  conservatism  is  very  largely  the  product  of  the 
habit-forming  agencies,  and  conservatism  and  habit  are  roughly 
synonymous.  But  there  is  also  an  element  of  organic  inherit¬ 
ance  in  this  adjustment  and  attachment,  namely  the  limits  set 
by  inherited  temperament  and  aptitudes.  Not  only  do  we  like 
to  live  in  an  environment  which  is  familiar  and  wonted,  and 
fn  which  our  activities  are  relatively  easy,  because  habitual, 
but  there  are  some  environments  more  suited  to  our  inherited 
nature  than  are  others.  If  we  are  fortunate  enough  to  be  placed 
in  such  an  environment  the  process  of  adjustment  through  train¬ 
ing  and  education  is  much  more  rapid,  easy,  and  effective  than 
it  can  be  if  we  are  placed  in  a  social  situation  wThich  runs 
counter  to  our  natural  bent.  Favorably  placed,  we  are  loath 
to  change,  not  only  because  of  orientation  and  habituation,  but 
also  because  of  the  more  deeply  seated  conformity  between  en¬ 
vironmental  opportunity  and  native  aptitudes.  Unfavorably 


24  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

placed,  we  either  change  our  environment,  or  endure  a  hard 
process  of  discipline  which  not  infrequently  represses  and  wastes 
valuable  natural  talent.  Through  a  prolonged  process  of  re¬ 
pression  and  discipline  we  may  become  adjusted  to  an  unsuit¬ 
able  environment  and  habituated,  to  a  fair  degree  of  thorough¬ 
ness,  to  the  attitudes  and  activities  demanded  by  it. 

Habitual  adjustment,  conventional  attitudes  and  actions 
(whether  we  are  placed  in  favorable  or  unfavorable  environ¬ 
ment),  thus  become  a  part  of  us — “ second  nature.* *  We  cannot 
entirely  divest  ourselves  of  our  inherited  aptitudes,  though  they 
can  be  repressed  or  greatly  modified  through  training.  We 
can  change  our  habits,  but  we  do  not  like  to  do  so,  chiefly 
because  of  the  fact  that  they  are  the  expression  of  what  we 
have  become,  partly  also  because  of  the  sentiments  which  attach 
to  habitual  attitudes  and  activities.  The  fact  that  we  do  not 
like  to  change  our  ways  is  indication  that  they  have  become 
characteristic  of  us.  Where  conservatism  is  the  product  of 
habituation,  we  may  therefore  properly  call  it  “ characteristic* * 
conservatism. 

In  its  higher  forms  the  impulse  to  security  becomes  a  rational, 
thought-out  desire.  Its  primitive  emotional  content  is  disci¬ 
plined  and  directed  by  knowledge  and  belief.  Habit  and  wont¬ 
edness  are  given  the  sanction  of  rational  calculation.  But 
below  this  higher  level  of  disciplined  minds,  the  desire  for 
security  exhibits,  with  greater  clearness  as  we  go  down  the 
mental  scale,  its  instinctive  emotional  nature  and  its  unthink¬ 
ing  attachment  to  the  merely  wonted  situation. 

If  what  we  here  venture  to  call  1 1  characteristic  *  ’  conservatism 
is  the  product  of  processes  of  adjustment  and  habituation  of 
the  individual  to  a  specific  situation,  we  may,  on  the  other 
hand,  without  drawing  a  too  sharp  and  consequently  untenable 
distinction  between  instinct  and  habit,  distinguish  another  type 
or  phase  of  conservatism  which  we  may  call  temperamental 
or  protective.  Remembering  that  all  human  instincts  are  very 
much  overcast,  modified,  and  complicated  by  imitation  and 
training,  the  fact  remains  that  beneath  all  the  adjustment  and 
habituation  which  we  have  suggested  lies  the  primitive,  fun¬ 
damental  fact  of  fear  emotions  and  fear  reactions. 

The  fear  element  in  conservatism  has  both  an  inherited  (in¬ 
stinctive)  and  a  cultural  basis.  In  its  instinctive  aspect  fear 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


25 


must  be  regarded  as  a  defense  mechanism  or  “set” — a  state 
of  preparedness  of  the  whole  organism  to  meet  danger,  either 
by  flight  or  by  fight.  It  makes  little  difference  whether,  with 
McDougall,  we  regard  fear  as  the  emotion  accompanying  the 
“instinct”  of  flight  (as  he  makes  anger  the  emotion  accom¬ 
panying  the  “instinct”  of  pugnacity)  or  regard  fear  itself  as 
the  instinct.  However  much  psychologists  may  differ  as  to  the 
nature  and  number  of  instincts,  and  however  cautious  they 
may  be  in  the  use  of  the  term  instinct,  they  are  in  agreement 
that  fear  is  in  a  fundamentally  significant  way  a  part  of  our 
organically  inherited  equipment,  and  that  it  serves  a  funda¬ 
mental  and  universal  function  in  the  process  of  adjustment 
between  organism  and  environment.  The  biologist  sees  con¬ 
stantly  fear  functioning  as  a  protective  agency.  The  sociolo¬ 
gist  sees  in  it  not  only  one  of  the  most  powerful  motives  making 
for  the  effectiveness  of  social  control,  but  also  an  agency  in 
the  social  selection  of  types  of  character.  And  the  moralist 
has  always  appealed  to  fear,  doubtless  entirely  too  much  so, 
to  secure  “right”  lines  of  conduct. 

Throughout  all  the  varied  manifestations  of  fear  on  the  part 
of  the  individual  in  a  social  complex,  its  fundamental  nature 
remains  the  same.  It  is  always  essentially  a  defense  mechanism 
or  state.  The  essential  difference  is  that  the  stimuli  to  fear 
have  now  come  to  be  other  than  they  were  under  “natural” 
conditions.  While  the  wild  animal  shows  instinctive  fear  in 
its  most  unmistakable  form,  and  while  in  men  some  survivals  of 
this  form  of  fear  may  be  observed,  modern  man  exhibits  fear 
emotion  most  frequently  when  the  culturally  acquired  adjust¬ 
ment  between  himself  and  his  environment  is  threatened.  The 
animal  fears  for  his  life;  man  fears  for  his  habits.  In  a  broad 
sense,  and  to  no  small  degree  in  a  very  specific  sense,  man 
fears  what  he  has  been  taught — not  always  intelligently — to 
fear. 

The  fear  which  motivates  individuals  in  a  social  complex 
is  thus  a  very  much  complicated  product  of  instinct  and  the 
stimuli  of  social  environment  and  tradition.  Instinctive  fear, 
temperamental  timidity,  is  only  the  groundwork  upon  which 
social  relations  have  constructed  a  ‘  ‘  pain  economy. ’  ’ 2  There 


a  See  Simon  N.  Fatten,  The  Theory  of  Social  Forces ,  1895,  pp.  75ff. 


26  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

are  of  course  other  motives  of  conduct  which  in  many  situations 
are  more  effective  than  fear.  One  need  mention  only  love,  sym¬ 
pathy,  good  fellowship,  curiosity,  desire  for  the  beautiful,  and 
the  impulse  to  workmanship.  Yet  the  functioning  of  all  of 
these  positive  and  dynamic  tendencies  or  motives  is  generally 
more  or  less  guided,  held  in  check,  and  repressed  by  protec¬ 
tive  fear.  That  fear  may  he  groundless  or  hypertrophied,  even 
to  the  point  of  paralyzing  all  power  of  action,  does  not  alter 
the  main  fact.  It  is  always,  if  not  actually  present,  at  least 
near  at  hand,  to  hold  up  a  warning  finger.  “Thus  conscience 
doth  make  cowards  of  us  all!”  The  individual  may  wish,  as 
Cooley  suggests,3  to  write  “  ‘whim’  on  the  lintel  of  his  door¬ 
post;”  but  he  is  usually  afraid  to  do  so,  knowing  that  if  he 
“lets  himself  go”  society  (that  is,  his  temperamentally  con¬ 
servative,  habituated,  and  repressed  neighbors)  will  make  him 
suffer,  physically,  socially,  or  economically,  as  one  who  in¬ 
fringes  upon  the  established  conventions  and  controls.  What 
he  does  may  do  neither  himself  nor  any  one  else  any  harm,  in 
fact  he  may  perform  some  of  the  occasionally  useful  functions 
of  the  iconoclast,  but  society  will  not  put  up  with  too  whim¬ 
sical  a  person,  unless  he  succeeds  in  getting  himself  known 
as  a  genius.  For  one  thing,  his  more  conventionalized  and 
less  individualized  neighbors  find  it  hard  to  interpret  him  in 
terms  of  the  fixed  formulae  of  sentiments  or  habits  of  thought 
which  are  their  customary  standards  of  judging  people.  They 
are  consequently  uncomfortable  and  uncertain  in  his  presence. 
They  fear  him  as  they  fear  the  unknown. 

The  essential  facts  with  regard  to  the  fear-habit  motivation 
of  conservatism  may  be  summarized  as  follows :  The  individual 
once  adjusted  to  a  given  environment,  in  such  a  way  that 
most  of  his  responses  and  activities  are  of  a  habitual,  routine 
character,  is  normally  in  a  psycho-physical  state  which  we  may 
call  contentment.  (This,  of  course,  is  on  the  assumption  that 
his  habitual  physical  needs  are  met,  and  that  he  is  not  subject 
to  balked  dispositions  arising  from  unsatisfied  desire  to  emulate 
persons  financially  and  culturally  adjusted  to  a  different, 
“higher”  environment  than  his  own.)  When  this  adjustment, 
this  working  relation,  to  the  environment  is  broken  in  upon 


Social  Organization ,  1909,  p.  46. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


27 


by  change,  or  threatened  change,  the  contentment-repose  van¬ 
ishes  and  the  organism  undergoes  an  active  internal  turmoil 
of  adjustment  to  meet  the  impending  change,  either  by  flight 
or  by  combat.  The  emotion  of  fear  (very  likely  accompanied 
by  emotions  of  anger  or  of  sorrow)  immediately  appears  be¬ 
cause  the  habit-routine  of  the  individual  is  endangered.  It 
makes  little  difference,  in  principle,  whether  this  habit-routine 
is  one  of  physical  activity,  of  sentiment,  or  of  thought.  In 
any  case,  just  because  the  behavior-pattern  has  become  habitual, 
we  cling  to  it,  and  any  threatened  necessity  for  modifying  it 
arouses  fear  and  resentment.  In  such  a  juncture  we  are  con¬ 
servative  from  active  fear.  We  seek  safety,  that  is,  a  condition 
in  which  our  habit-routine  can  continue  unmodified,  by  resist¬ 
ing  the  threatened  environmental  change.  When  no  change 
threatens  and  consequently  habit-routine  is  not  endangered,  we 
are  conservative  in  a  passive  sense;  that  is,  we  simply  go  on  in 
the  accustomed  routine  of  sentiment,  thought,  and  action. 

In  general,  therefore,  the  function  of  the  attitude  of  conserv¬ 
atism  is  to  protect  the  working  relation  between  aptitudes  and 
habit  on  the  one  side  and  the  environment  on  the  other.  While 
this  attitude  functions  through  some  form  of  fear,  it  will  add 
to  our  understanding  to  note  somewhat  more  specifically  what 
it  is  that  we  are  afraid  of,  whether  by  instinct  or  by  training. 

We  find  in  the  first  place  that  fear  of  the  unknown  or  un¬ 
familiar  is  one  of  the  deep  roots  of  conservatism.  The  unknown 
offers  unlimited  play  for  imagination  and  superstition,  with 
the  result  that  even  the  common-sense  mind  of  civilized  and 
disciplined  man  is  not  free  from  the  primitive  propensity  to 
people  it  with  terrifying  intangible  dangers.  The  merely  un¬ 
familiar  is  not  so  much  feared  as  simply  avoided,  because  it 
will  require  too  great  effort  of  attention  to  understand  or 
become  adjusted  to  it.  Habitual,  repetitive,  imitative  lines  of 
thought — the  only  kind  of  thought  most  individuals  indulge  in — 
do  not  move  easily  in  an  unfamiliar  medium.  The  attraction 
of  the  novel  (appeal  to  curiosity,  or  to  desire  for  distinction) 
to  some  extent  counteracts  this  fear  of  the  unknown  and  lazy 
aversion  to  the  unfamiliar,  but  only  partially,  and  not  at  all  in 
the  more  set  type  of  conservative  mind.  As  the  average  traveler 
or  hiker  keeps  to  the  blazed  trail,  and  fears  to  venture  into  out- 
of-the-way  places  or  to  set  off  across  hill  and  dale  for  himself,  so 


28  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

the  average  citizen  feels  safest  in  the  circle  of  his  familiar 
thoughts,  customs,  conventions,  and  habits,  and  feels  an  uncom¬ 
fortable  sense  of  insecurity  and  shrinking  at  the  thought  of  es¬ 
sential  change  or  experiment  in  new  social,  political,  or  economic 
arrangements.  Considered  as  a  positive  guide  to  conduct,  the 
known  and  familiar  must  always  carry  greater  weight  than  the 
unknown  and  unfamiliar.  One’s  own  experience,  one’s  own  in¬ 
terpretation  of  facts,  one’s  own  illusions,  one’s  own  imaginary 
facts,  one’s  own  valuations,  are  more  convincing,  more  comfort¬ 
ing,  than  the  reassurances  of  priest  or  medicine  man  or  prophet 
— unless,  and  until,  these  personages  attain  a  degree  of  prestige, 
authority,  and  power  of  quasi-hypnotic  impression  which  stim¬ 
ulates  in  us  the  propensities  of  self-abasement  and  hero  wor¬ 
ship.  Such  impressive  prestiges,  however,  are  palpably  dimin¬ 
ishing  in  strength  and  prevalence  under  the  influence  of  mod¬ 
ern  science  and  democratization.  Science  and  democratization 
have  still  a  very  long  way  to  go.  Democracy  is  in  the  nature  of 
surface  phenomena,  as  yet,  and  as  far  as  application  of  scientific 
thought  to  the  guidance  of  human  affairs  goes,  science  is  held 
in  check  by  an  almost  impermeable  mass  of  superstition,  ego¬ 
tism,  and  illusion.  Temperamental,  protective  conservatism 
still  results  from  unreasoning  fear  of  the  unfamiliar  and  un¬ 
tried,  as  well  as  from  the  authoritatively  imposed  habits  of 
thought  and  belief  inculcated  by  conservative  leaders.  These 
leaders  themselves  are  not  free  from  old  illusions  and  attach¬ 
ment  to  the  archaic,  and  incidentally  they  may  sometimes  have 
personal  materialistic  reasons  for  not  desiring  essential  change. 

We  may  also  fear  the  relatively  familiar  if  it  is  deemed  dis¬ 
advantageous  to  our  interests  or  does  not  conform  to  our  senti¬ 
ments.  Clericalism  fears  science,  law-abiding  citizens  fear  the 
deteriorating  influence  of  the  Ku  Klux,  one  hundred  per  cent 
Americans  fear  the  foreign  born,  one  of  our  noted  automobile 
manufacturers  fears  the  Jews,  and  so  on.  Obviously  fear  of  the 
familiar  may  lead  to  conservatism  and  it  may  not.  Fear  of  the 
possible  results  of  woman  suffrage — a  familiar  enough  idea — 
caused  many  persons  to  take  a  conservative  or  reactionary  atti¬ 
tude  on  that  issue.  Some  of  these  same  persons  voted  for  the 
radical  eighteenth  amendment  out  of  fear  of  the  familiar  saloon. 
In  many  cases  it  is  clear  that  fear  of  the  familiar  thing  is  really 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


29 


fear  of  the  unknown  factors  in  it.  Thus  fear  of  the  Ku  Klux 
is  due  in  part  to  the  secret  nature  of  that  organization.  The 
same  can  be  said  of  fear  of  science  (Darwinism!  Evolution!), 
the  foreign  born,  Catholicism,  the  Jews,  and  vaccination.  While 
knowledge  does  not  drive  out  fear  in  cases  where  fear  is  rational, 
ignorance  nevertheless  is  the  mother  of  a  vast  amount  of  unneces¬ 
sary  fear. 

Quite  as  strong  as,  and  somewhat  more  definite  than,  fear  of 
the  unfamiliar  is  fear  of  social  disapprobation.4  We  have  here 
an  explanation  of  the  hold  which  conventional  notions  of  pro¬ 
priety  and  conformity  have  upon  the  average  mind.  To  uphold 
the  old,  to  abide  by  the  established,  to  refrain  from  much  criti¬ 
cism  of  things  as  they  are,  to  think  none  but  conventional 
thoughts, — these  are  the  avenues  to  day-by-day  respectability. 
Divergence  from  them  lays  one  open  to  the  charge  of  being 
“ queer,’ ’  eccentric,  a  “knocker,”  and  of  being  deficient  in  good 
taste  and  respectability. 

There  is,  however,  more  in  the  motivation  of  protective  con¬ 
servatism  than  this  self-regarding,  egocentric  fear.  People  hesi¬ 
tate  or  refuse  to  make  progressive  or  radical  social  changes,  not 
only  out  of  personal  interest  or  irrational  dread  of  change,  but 
from  honest,  rational  belief  that  a  given  reform  may  unleash 
more  social  evils  than  it  will  remedy.  There  are  times  when  any 
relaxation  of  social  control  or  any  great  or  sudden  change  in 
its  forms  and  agencies  may  spell  disaster,  at  least  temporarily, 
not  only  to  those  classes  who  have  enjoyed  special  privileges  but 
to  the  group  as  a  whole.  And  while  the  vast  majority  of  conser¬ 
vatives  who  oppose  radical  economic  reform  probably  do  so 
because  they  fear  for  particular  economic  interests  and  privi¬ 
leges,  there  are  still  many,  among  whom  are  some  who  enjoy  no 
special  privilege,  who  have  honestly  convinced  themselves  that 
any  essential  alteration  in  the  mass  and  incidence  of  social 
control,  say  of  business  enterprise  (e.g.,  centralized  federal 
regulation,  or  government  ownership  of  public  utilities)  would 
inflict  a  permanent  economic  loss  upon  people  generally, 
producers  and  consumers  alike. 

4  For  a  brief  discussion  of  the  relation  of  this  form  of  fear  to  pride 
and  to  the  possible  instinct  of  gregariousness,  see  Z.  C.  Dickinson, 
Economic  Motives ,  1922,  pp.  118-121. 


30  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

Take  an  illustration  in  the  field  of  social  contact  and  segrega¬ 
tion.  The  great  mass  of  the  population  of  the  United  States 
is  either  oblivious  to  the  existence  of  a  race  ( i.e .,  negro)  problem, 
or  is  content  to  let  race  relations  rest  in  statu  quo ,  for  fear  that 
the  more  these  relations  are  discussed,  and  the  more  reform  is 
admitted  to  be  desirable,  the  more  dangerous  the  situation  will 
become.  This  is  probably  the  average  characteristic  attitude  in 
both  races.  At  least  it  was  so  before  the  war.  But  there  are 
radical  reformers  in  both  races  who  insist  upon  the  ideal  of 
social,  as  well  as  economic,  equality,  and  who  insist  that  agita¬ 
tion  must  be  carried  on  in  season  and  out  for  the  practical 
realization  of  this  ideal.  Now  the  white  people  of  the  South 
(and  a  very  large  proportion  of  those  in  the  North)  are  not 
likely  soon  to  take  kindly  to  the  remotest  suggestion  of  social 
equality,  although  there  are  many  forward-looking,  thoughtful 
people  in  the  South,  as  in  the  North,  who  hold  that  provision 
for  equal  economic  opportunity  for  the  negro  is  a  just  and 
necessary  reform.  But  any  agitation  for  social  equality,  even 
though  there  be  very  little  of  it,  produces  a  retardation  in  the 
acceptance  of  the  ideal  of  equal  economic  opportunity.  There 
are  undoubtedly  a  vast  number  of  persons  in  the  South — cotton 
and  sugar  planters,  lumber  companies,  employers  of  negro 
domestic  labor — who  cannot  bear  the  thought  that  the  negro 
should  ever  be  anything  but  a  hewer  of  wood  and  a  drawer  of 
water,  one  set  aside  by  Providence  to  do  the  heavy,  dirty,  and 
unremunerative  work,  just  as  there  are  many  employers  in 
the  North  who  look  upon  the  immigrant  laborer  as  an 
impersonal  cog  in  the  industrial  machine. 

These  persons  will,  from  entirely  selfish,  materialistic  motives, 
oppose  any  step  or  drift  toward  economic  opportunity  for  the 
negro,  such  as  might  flow  from  adequate  schools  and  industrial 
and  commercial  training.  But,  as  is  the  wont  of  special  inter¬ 
ests,  they  will  not  ordinarily  give  their  real  reasons  for 
opposition;  they  will,  the  rather,  raise  the  cry  that  social 
equality  is  being  aimed  at,  and  must  inevitably  follow  from 
educational  and  economic  opportunity.  Hence  the  only  safe 
course  is  a  tight-sitting  conservatism  which  will  continue  to 
see  to  it  that  the  negro  is  kept  in  his  place.  Once  the  alleged 
issue  of  social  equality  is  raised,  all  but  the  critically-minded 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


31 


find  themselves  confronted  by  the  spectre  of  race  amalgamation. 
Barring  those  with  selfish  interests,  who  with  malice  afore¬ 
thought  draw  the  red  herring  of  social  equality  across  the  trail 
of  the  real  issue,  the  people  who  are  honestly  impressed  with 
the  fear  that  social  equality  is  the  real  aim  and  that  it  would 
follow  upon  the  heels  of  increased  economic  opportunity  must 
be  given  credit  for  a  conservatism  motivated  by  considerations 
of  public  welfare,  and  this  credit  must  be  given  whether  one 
“ believes  in”  racial  “equality”  or  not.  In  other  words,  the 
fear  which  motivates  them  to  protective  conservatism  is  not 
egoistic  fear  (at  most  it  is  based  on  race  egotism)  but  a  fear 
for  the  safety  of  the  social  group. 

Other  and  more  generalized  motives  to  conservatism  are 
suggested  in  the  next  section,  on  conservative  characteristics. 

2.  Characteristics  of  the  Conservative  Mind 

Our  analysis  of  the  fear-motivation  of  conservatism  has 
distinguished  fear  of  the  unknown,  of  the  unfamiliar  (and, 
under  certain  circumstances,  of  the  familiar),  of  the  unconven¬ 
tional,  and  of  social  disapprobation.  These  fears  must  here  be 
set  down  as  specific  and  salient  characteristics  of  the  conserva¬ 
tive  mind.  Desire  for  recognition  and  for  distinction,  later 
mentioned  above,  and  the  resulting  susceptibility  to  prestige- 
attraction  are  characteristic  of  all  minds,  and  so  cannot  be  called 
exclusively  conservative  traits,  although  they  are  perhaps  some¬ 
what  more  characteristic  of  conservative  than  of  radical  tempera¬ 
ments.  The  conservative  conformist  is  more  likely  to  control 
his  conduct  in  accordance  with  the  standard  “What  will  people 
say  ? 9  y  than  is  the  non-conformist  radical.  The  specific  conserva¬ 
tive  characteristics,  other  than  these,  are:  a  group  of  traits 
related  directly  to  the  fact  of  attachment  or  adjustment,  pride, 
loyalty,  sense  of  order,  deficiency  in  constructive  imagination, 
and  a  tendency  to  base  subjective  valuations  upon  an  exagger¬ 
ated  regard  for  safety  and  past  experience. 

By  “attachment”  is  meant  that  accommodation  which  results 
from  the  habit-forming  agencies  and  processes  discussed  above. 
The  central  significant  product  of  these  processes  is,  as  we  have 
seen,  the  ability  and  tendency  to  react  to  a  familiar,  wonted 
environment  in  semi-automatic  manner,  without  the  intervention 


32  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

of  conscious  attention  or  ‘ ‘willed’’  direction  of  action.  There 
is  a  close  relation  between  conservatism  and  certain  aspects  of 
physical  laziness,  which  plays  its  part  in  the  development  of  the 
lackadaisical,  passive  type  of  conservative  attitude.  The  smaller 
the  variety  and  range  of  stimuli  to  which  an  individual  or  class 
is  subject,  the  more  likely  is  this  physiological  conservatism  to 
be  present.  As  Veblen  points  out,  any  class  sheltered  from  the 
action  of  environment  in  any  essential  respect  “will  adapt  its 
views  and  its  scheme  of  life  more  tardily  to  the  general  situa¬ 
tion  ”  and  “will  in  so  far  tend  to  retard  the  process  of  social 
transformation.  ’  ’  This  is  one  reason  why,  even  apart  from 
special  interests  which  it  consciously  wishes  to  preserve,  the 
leisure  class  obstructs  change. 5 

A  sub-type  of  lackadaisical  conservatism  is  that  of  the  people 
who  are  willing  to  have  progressive  things  done  if  some  one 
else  will  do  them.  After  the  hard,  unpopular  pioneering  work 
of  a  movement  is  done,  there  are  always  a  sufficient  number  of 
such  conservatives  to  come  forward  in  time  to  share  in  the 
congratulations.  Both  fear  and  desire  for  recognition  and 
approbation  play  their  part  in  this  change  of  front.  Fear  of 
unpopularity  keeps  many  people  who  have  possibly  consider¬ 
able  potential  originality  from  arousing  themselves  to  the 
effort  of  independent  thinking  or  of  lending  their  energies 
and  influence  to  any  unpopular  cause.  The  effectiveness  of 
this  fear  is  enhanced  by  our  pecuniary  standards  of  social 
position. 

A  sub-characteristic  of  habituation  is  the  craving  for  “prin¬ 
ciples”  (which  can  be  used  as  a  credit  currency  in  place  of 
work  and  accomplishment),  and  for  settled  systems  of  thought 
and  feeling — centers  about  which  sentiment  can  revolve  in  a 
closed  orbit.  This  is  one  thing  that  gives  certain  religions  their 
hold.  Hard  and  fast  religious  creeds,  authoritatively  imposed, 
enable  their  nominal  devotees  to  escape  the  labor  of  critical 
thought  and  furnish  a  safe  haven  for  those  who  have  not  the 
courage  to  face  the  stubborn  realities  of  life,  and  have  therefore 
to  appeal  to  some  kind  of  mysticism.  Every  individual  has, 
and  in  the  nature  of  things  must  have,  some  working  philosophy 
of  life,  at  least  some  fragmentary  justification  of  his  way  of 


6  Veblen,  The  Theory  of  the  Leisure  Class,  1899,  p.  193. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


33 


living.  The  difference  between  the  conservative  and  the  progres¬ 
sive  in  this  respect  is  that  one  dislikes  intensely  to  change  his 
philosophy  in  the  slightest  particular,  while  the  other  adjusts 
himself  to  the  repeated  necessity  of  modification.  The  extreme 
radical,  in  this  respect,  resembles  the  conservative  more  than  he 
does  the  progressive. 

Curiously  enough,  this  desire  for  a  settled  philosophy  is 
prominent  in  a  certain  type  of  college  student,  especially  among 
those  who  have  had  rigorous  authoritative  training.  College 
students,  after  the  Sophomore  year,  are  usually  old  enough  to 
begin  to  grasp  something  of  the  methods  of  unrest  and  criticism, 
of  “ drift,”  changing  ideals,  and  the  development  of  new 
standards  and  points  of  view  in  economies,  politics,  morals  and 
religion.  But  as  soon  as  the  defects,  the  insufficiency,  the  non- 
adaptability  of  the  old,  are  dimly  realized,  there  is  a  strong 
tendency  among  them  to  demand  a  new  system,  a  new  philosophy, 
ready  made  and  cut  to  fit,  neatly  arranged  and  labeled,  so  that 
they  may  immediately  put  it  in  the  place  of  the  old.  And  if 
college  students  can  be  addicted  to  this  sort  of  superficiality, 
in  which  a  man  knows  not  the  reasons  for  the  faith  which  is  in 
him,  but  takes  the  way  of  least  resistance,  whether  it  lead  back 
to  a  comfortable,  flabby  conservatism  or  off  into  a  superficial 
radicalism,  we  certainly  have  no  cause  for  surprise  to  find  the 
populace  at  large  characterized  in  great  measure  by  a  certain 
mental  stolidity,  quite  as  much  as  by  actively  protective 
conservative  attitudes. 

Active  conservatism  may  be  regarded  as  a  phase  or  by-product 
of  loyalty — loyalty  to  principles,  to  institutions,  to  ideals,  and 
to  persons.  Unfortunately  “loyalty”  is  one  of  those  much  used 
and  of  late  grievously  abused  terms  which  among  the  unthinking 
passes  for  full-weight,  sterling  metal.  Among  the  more  critical 
it  has  come  to  be  regarded  as  a  somewhat  depreciated  currency. 
Most  people  use  the  term  without  any  definite  idea  of  its 
significance.  Of  late,  regrettably,  it  has  come  into  frequent 
use  by  special  interests  who  wish  to  make  it  synonymous  with 
reactionism.  According  to  this  usage,  anyone  who  dares  to 
criticize  the  existing  economic  and  political  order  is  “disloyal,” 
just  as  formerly  anyone  who  did  not  accept  the  doctrine  of  the 
virgin  birth  of  Christ  or  the  literal  inspiration  and  infallibility 
of  the  Bible  was  an  “infidel”  or  “atheist.”  This  conception 


34  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

of  loyalty  as  an  attitude  excluding  independent  thought  and 
adverse  criticism  is  probably  very  old,  and  it  is  the  one  most 
common  to-day.  The  “loyal”  undergraduate  frowns  upon  any 
open  adverse  criticism  of  “the  team,”  the  local  business  man 
dislikes  unfavorable  publicity  for  his  town,  the  rank  and  file 
of  trade  union  members  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  anyone  who  tries  to 
convince  them  of  shortcomings  in  union  leaders  or  policies,  and 
so  on.  Now,  from  a  rational  point  of  view,  this  sensitiveness  to 
criticism  is  foolish  and  costly,  because  the  group  ought  to  find 
in  criticism  a  stimulus  and  means  to  improve  its  services  to  its 
members.  But  from  the  point  of  view  of  “practical  politics,” 
as  well  as  from  consideration  of  historical  origins,  it  is  easy  to 
see  why  any  great  amount  of  open  adverse  criticism  receives 
a  cold  welcome.  Not  only  does  it  offend  the  pride  of  members 
of  the  group,  but  it  may  cause  internal  dissensions  and  produce 
a  lack  of  unity  which  will  be  injurious  to  the  group  in  its 
competition  or  conflict  with  other  groups.  No  army  leader 
wishes  the  enemy  to  know  the  weakness  of  his  forces.6 

Loyalty,  in  its  historical  development  and  its  practical  appli¬ 
cation  is  thus  a  defensive  attitude ,  and  it  is  not  without  signifi¬ 
cance  that  etymologically  the  word  is  closely  related  to  “legal.” 
Loyalty  is  a  trait  highly  useful  to  protective  conservatism.  It 
gives  confidence  in  group  solidarity  and  in  group  support  of 
the  individual.  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  in  war-time 
it  becomes  the  first  of  the  cardinal  virtues,  or  that  always  one 
of  the  easiest  ways  to  ward  off  investigation  and  rob  criticism 
of  effect  is  to  raise  the  hue  and  cry  that  the  group  is  being 
traitorously  attacked.  The  “herd  instinct”  will  do  the  rest. 

Moreover,  “loyalty”  serves  a  useful  purpose  to  the  group  and 
to  group  leaders  in  that  it  removes  or  diminishes  the  necessity 
for  giving  raisons  d’etre  or  justifications.  If  my  attitude  is  to 
be  “my  country,  right  or  wrong,”  there  is  no  pressing  reason 
why  my  country  should  ever  be  right.  Such  an  attitude,  literally 
carried  out  in  any  institution  or  group,  would  stifle  every  vestige 
of  internal  criticism — which  is  usually  the  most  effective  kind — 
and  peaceful  progress  would  be  impossible. 

6  Sinclair  Lewis’  much  read  novel,  Main  Street,  is  a  suggestive  study 
of  mediocrity’s  sensitiveness  to  criticism,  and  at  the  same  time  impervi¬ 
ousness  to  it. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


35 


Protective  conservatism  is  peculiarly  loyal  to  institutions  as 
such.  Its  reverence  for  established  institutions,  in  their  existing 
form — especially  the  family,  the  church,  private  property,  and 
nationalism — would  lift  them  above  the  reach  of  criticism  and 
practically  make  them  ends  in  themselves — a  curious  ethical 
inversion  of  ends  and  means. 

Loyalty  to  persons  is  a  trait  of  both  conservative  and  radical. 
The  Chinaman  with  his  ancestor-worship,  the  precinct  man  with 
his  unquestioning  fealty  to  his  boss,  the  revolutionary  socialist 
with  his  reverence  for  the  memory  of  Karl  Marx,  and  the 
Mohammedan  with  his  “  There  is  no  god  but  Allah  and  Moham¬ 
med  is  his  prophet”  are  all,  so  far  as  personal  loyalty  is 
concerned,  in  the  same  class.  They  all  flame  out  white  hot  at 
criticism  or  opposition. 

Personal  loyalty  is  akin  to  the  so-called  herd  instinct,  which 
can  be  observed  in  animals,  and  strong  survivals  of  which 
persist  in  civilized  man.  The  more  closely  knit  a  group,  the 
less  contact  its  members  have  with  other  groups,  the  more 
uniform  and  homogeneous  their  experience — in  a  word  the 
greater  their  group  isolation — the  more  completely  is  the 
personality  of  the  individual  shaped  and  “set”  in  conformity 
with  group  viewpoints  and  standards.  Under  such  conditions 
the  individual  is  likely  to  have  an  exaggerated  idea  of  the 
authoritative  quality  of  his  group’s  beliefs  and  ideals. 

Herein  lies  a  partial  explanation  of  the  intense  loyalties, 
institutional  and  personal,  and  the  dogmatic  conservatism  of 
many  young  people  during  the  adolescent  period.  While  the 
loyalties  of  youth  are  doubtless  more  easily  reshaped  and 
rationalized  than  are  those  of  age,  provided  one  authority  or 
prestige  be  set  against  another  and  the  youth  thus  led  to  think 
for  himself,  the  immature  personality  bears  the  impress  of  the 
group  quite  as  plainly,  though  not  so  deeply,  as  does  the  settled 
character  of  older  persons.  It  is  only  the  plasticity  and  elastic 
rebound  of  youth  that  prevents  a  permanent  “set”  of  these 
impresses  into  practically  ineradicable  prejudices.  Everyone 
who  has  had  to  do  with  the  mental  processes  of  youth  must  have 
noted  in  how  many  instances  any  adverse  criticism  or  even 
questioning  of  the  ideals,  beliefs,  sentiments,  and  institutions 
to  which  the  adolescent  mind  has  been  trained  arouses  instant 


36  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

defensive  reaction.  While  it  is  less  tenacious,  it  is  often  as  intense 
and  intolerant,  for  the  time  being,  as  that  usually  shown  by 
men  and  women  of  more  mature  years.  The  more  authoritative 
and  the  more  preclusive  of  independent  critical  thought  this 
training  has  been,  the  more  do  these  tenaciously  loyal  minds 
fail  to  open  up  to  rational  processes.  It  is  in  the  sphere  of 
religion  that  this  exclusive  authoritarianism  has  been  of  longest 
standing  and  is  most  persistent  in  institutional  folkways.  As  a 
result,  hundreds  of  young  men  and  women  in  some  church 
schools  and  seminaries  never  catch  even  a  glimpse  of  the 
constructive  philosophical  and  ethical  thought  of  the  “higher 
criticism”  and  the  modern  tendency  to  give  Christian  ethics 
a  social  rather  than  a  narrowly  individualistic  implication. 

Loyalty,  of  course,  is  not  a  trait  exclusively  of  conservatives. 
No  one  can  be  more  loyal  than  are  the  dogmatic  and  uneducated 
members  of  some  radical  groups.  There  is  a  sort  of  conserva¬ 
tism,  however,  even  in  such  loyalty,  for  it  bespeaks  a  sentimen¬ 
tal  attachment  which  will  not  brook,  and  cannot  understand, 
any  criticism  of  the  tenets  and  sentiments  of  the  group.  There 
is  in  popular  loyalty  very  little  intellective  element.  While 
rational  criticism  and  true  loyalty — that  is,  devotion  to  the 
best  interests  of  the  person,  institution  or  group  to  which  one 
is  loyal — are  by  no  means  incompatible,  what  usually  goes  as 
loyalty  is  mere  unthinking  sentiment.  For  this  reason  loyalty 
is  in  another  sense  than  the  one  noted  above  a  defense  attitude. 
The  loyal  person,  by  his  unquestioning  devotion,  and  resentment 
or  combat-reactions  to  criticism,  seeks  to  protect  the  object 
around  which  his  sentiments  gravitate. 

Unconsciously  the  personality  of  the  young  mind  has  become 
identified  with  the  traditions,  mental  habits,  and  viewpoints  of 
its  institutional  relations.  Consequently  pride  enters  in.  The 
individual  feels  criticism  of  his  group  or  institutional  habits 
and  ideals  to  be  an  attack  upon  himself.  His  self-regard  and 
his  group  loyalty  become  essentially  synonymous.  This  egotisti¬ 
cal  loyalty  results  in  part  from  the  fact  that  no  mind  likes  to 
be  re-made.  Dislike  to  mental  refurnishing  is  a  matter  of 
laziness  (“motor-set”),  of  pride  in  consistency,  of  loyal  attach¬ 
ment,  and  perhaps  also  of  fear.  The  social  order  in  which  a 
man  lives  and  to  which  his  responses  are  habitually  adapted 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


37 


becomes  a  part  of  himself.  Change  in  it  necessitates  alteration 
in  his  personality.  Even  a  change  of  abode  is  distasteful  to 
those  who  have  lived  long  in  one  place.  If,  as  Giddings  says, 
“the  persistent  desire  of  consciousness  is  to  be  clear  and 
painless,  ’  ’ 7  opposition  of  thought  and  of  sentiment  is  likely, 
in  all  but  critically-intellectual  minds,  to  induce  a  “balked 
disposition.”  8  Physiologically  this  may  be  explained  as  nervous 
strain,  but  morally  it  is  to  be  regarded  as  thwarted  assertion 
of  the  ego,  resulting  either  in  combativeness  or  in  hurt  feelings 
and  an  increase  of  shyness  and  reticence.  In  any  but  the 
critically-intellectual  mind,  which  takes  intellectual  opposition 
as  a  purely  impersonal  matter  and  welcomes  it  as  an  aid  to 
clear  thinking,  difference  of  opinion  or  of  sentiment  is  too 
commonly  regarded  as  a  personal  affront.  Thus  the  untrained 
or  the  too  narrowly  trained  person  is  thrown  into  a  personally 
defensive  attitude  and  the  blindness  of  his  devotion  to  his 
sentiments  is  intensified.  The  egotistical  person  has  a  distinct 
and  conscious  pride  in  his  loyalties,  which  intensifies  both  his 
virtues  and  his  faults,  but  in  particular  has  a  tendency  to  deprive 
him  of  objective  critical  capacity.  Both  individuals  and  groups 
may  thus  become  conservators  of  beliefs  and  viewpoints  which 
continue  to  claim  loyalty  only  because  they  are  by  pride 
protected  from  effective  criticism. 

On  the  group’s  side — more  specifically  on  the  part  of  its 
most  narrowly  “loyal”  and  conservative  leaders — care  is  taken 
to  see  that  this  egotistic  and  unquestioning  faithfulness  to  group 
institutions  and  ideals  is  not  allowed  to  diminish  in  intensity 
or  exclusiveness.  What  may  be  called  group-egotism  is  cultivated. 
One’s  group  is  the  greatest,  finest,  most  enlightened  of  its  kind. 
Sufficient  illustration  of  this  sort  of  group-utilitarian  sentiment 
will  occur  to  the  reader.  Its  favorite  haunt  is  chauvinistic 
nationalism.  One  does  not  have  to  go  to  Germany  to  encounter 
it.  Sectionalism  and  sectarianism  are  green  pastures  for  it. 
Certain  radical  groups  are  strongly  characterized  by  it. 

The  sincere  conservative  always  has  a  strong  sense  of  order. 
This  may  be  merely  an  unthinking  dislike  of  disturbance  of 
any  kind,  coupled  to  the  feeling  that  all  radical  change  is 


7  Readings  in  Descriptive  and  Historical  Sociology,  1906,  p.  126. 

8  See  Graham  Wallas,  The  Great  Society ,  1914,  pp.  64ff. 


38  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

somehow  connected  with  “lawlessness,”  or  it  may  be  intellectual 
conviction  that  social  order  as  it  is,  in  all  its  essential  details, 
has  been  too  hardly  won  and  is  too  sacred  to  be  subjected  to 
the  risks  of  reform.  Usually,  however,  the  cry  that  order  is 
being  disturbed  comes  from  vested-interest  conservatism. 

Sense  of  order,  and  fear  of  change  in  social  order,  are  to 
be  associated,  where  some  special  interest  is  not  at  stake,  with 
a  lack  of  constructive  imagination.  The  conservative  is  adept 
at  conjuring  up  a  list  of  imaginary  evils  sure  to  flow  from  a 
change  in  institutions,  economic  relations,  or  moral  standards, 
but  he  lacks  either  the  will  or  the  capacity  to  form  a  mental 
image  of  benefits  to  flow  from  new  arrangements.  The  more 
radical  the  proposed  change,  the  more  it  stimulates  his  pessimis¬ 
tic  forebodings,  and  the  less  able  is  he  to  see  any  possible  good 
in  it. 

The  conservative  looks  at  his  entire  familiar  environment 
through  the  eyes  of  habituation  and  at  any  different  environment 
through  the  eyes  of  fear.  All  elements  of  life  are  evaluated 
primarily  with  reference  to  safety  or  security.  Since  the  existing 
environment  is  usually  the  present  product  of  the  past,  from 
which  any  change  has  been  gradual  enough  to  permit  uncon¬ 
scious  adjustment,  the  conservative  generally  sets  an  exaggerated 
valuation  on  the  past.  Whether  from  the  influence  of  the 
schools,  and  specifically  from  the  study  of  history  as  it  is  too 
frequently  taught,  or  from  other  causes,  such  for  example  as 
family  pride  and  the  appeal  of  the  antique  and  archaic  to  the 
imagination,  our  attachment  to  the  tried  and  familiar  is  turned 
into  a  reverence  for  the  past  simply  because  it  is  the  past. 
Thus  the  social  organization  and  ideals  of  the  past  take  on  a 
sanctity  and  authority  out  of  proportion  to  their  real  value. 

The  extent  of  the  part  which  fear  and  habit,  conjoined  to 
an  uncritical  attachment  to  things  as  they  are  and  the  easy  be¬ 
lief  that  the  past  contained  all  wisdom,  play  in  life,  depends 
largely  upon  the  degree  to  which  the  individual’s  life  is  governed 
by  objective  knowledge  and  critical  reason  as  compared  with 
subjective  sentiment  and  prejudice. 

We  shall  later,  when  we  come  to  consider  the  characteristics  of 
the  radical  mind,  have  occasion  to  allude  to  the  idea  of  mental 
types,  and  specifically,  to  refer  to  a  rough  classification,  based  on 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


39 


the  degree  to  which  the  individual ’s  mental  processes  are  charac¬ 
terized  by  emotion  and  intellect  respectively,  and  his  actions 
governed  by  emotional  or  rational  guidance.9  We  shall  there 
point  out  that  the  nearer  the  mind  comes  to  the  objective, 
scientific  ideal,  the  more  it  reaches  conclusions  on  the  basis  of 
factual  evidence,  the  more  it  is  characterized  by  intellectual  and 
rational  processes,  rather  than  by  reflex  and  habitual  motor 
reactions  or  by  subjective  emotionalism,  the  nearer  it  comes  to 
the  qualities  necessary,  not  to  the  exigencies  of  field  combat 
between  conservative  and  radical  interests,  but  to  the  construc¬ 
tive  inventiveness  and  engineering  capacity  essential  to  social 
readjustment  reasonably  rapid,  yet  reasonably  consonant  with 
social  stability  and  safety.  Needless  to  say,  comparatively  few 
minds,  whether  conservative  or  radical  in  tendency,  approximate 
this  creatively  intellective  type.  The  majority  of  minds  are 
with  respect  to  most  interests  either  ideo-emotional  or  dogmatic- 
emotional.  A  mind  either  highly  emotional  or  markedly 
dogmatic  is  uncritical. 

Certainly  the  mass  of  conservatives  are  characterized  either 
by  a  conspicuous  absence  of  critical  capacity  or  by  the  determi¬ 
nation  not  to  allow  criticism  to  be  directed  against  the  institu¬ 
tions,  ideals,  etc.,  to  which  they  pride  themselves  on  being 
“ loyal.”  This  leads  to  an  avoidance  of  issues,  refusal  to  face 
facts,  and  to  a  vast  network  of  1 1  rationalizations  ’  ’ 10  and 
casuistries  by  which  the  world  is  made  to  seem  what  it  is  not 
and  worse  reasons  the  better.11 

From  this  “  rationalizing1  ’  trait,  as  well  as  from  loyalty, 
refusal  to  face  facts  and  issues,  and  the  tendency  to  deceptive 
idealization,  springs  the  conservative’s  bland  optimism,  “ God’s 
in  his  heaven,  all’s  right  with  the  world” — why  worry! 

Few  minds  are  wholly  either  conservative  or  radical.  Fear, 
habituation,  inertia,  loyalty,  and  bovine  contentment  may 
produce  in  some  cases  a  nearly  absolute  conservatism,  but  there 
are  few  persons  who  will  not,  upon  occasion,  manifest  at  least 
some  interest  in  criticism,  in  change,  and  in  the  new;  and 
interest  may  pave  the  way  to  accommodation  to  innovations, 

See  pp.  174,  175,  181,  316-318. 

10  In  the  psychoanalytical  sense. 

11  See  the  later  passage  on  symbolical  conservatism,  pp.  127-129. 


40  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

if  not  to  actual  approval  of  them.  So  also  will  a  sense  of  the 
inevitable.  It  was  some  gain  for  political  democracy,  for  instance, 
when  hide-bound  conservatives  reached  the  point  of  saying  of 
equal  suffrage,  "Oh,  well,  it’s  coming,  I  know  that!”  Conserva¬ 
tism  of  this  stoic  type,  however,  would  be  of  comparatively  little 
significance  did  it  not  always  lie  as  an  inert  mass  weighing  the 
scales  down  heavily  against  the  critic  and  the  innovator.  It 
forms  a  mass  whose  votes  and  implastic  sentiment  the  progres¬ 
sive  or  radical  always  has  to  contend  with  in  his  attempts  to 
turn  public  opinion  and  concerted  action  in  the  direction  of 
reform. 

Even  the  best  of  minds  has  its  compartments.  Some  of  them 
are  duly  lighted  and  aired,  and  swept  out  with  exemplary 
frequency,  and  old  jnink  and  lumber  are  never  allowed  to 
accumulate.  Others  are  tightly  closed  and  have  a  musty  odor 
like  an  old  parlor.  Sometimes,  doubtless,  fine  sparkling  wine 
of  thought  is  drawn  from  some  dark  cellar-hole  of  the  mind 
where  it  has  lain  long  and  matured  in  the  calm  of  unruffled 
meditation.  Mostly,  however,  these  closed  or  half-closed  areas 
are  merely  the  catch-all  places  of  ideas,  loyalties,  habits,  and 
attitudes  which  we  are  too  lazy  or  too  preoccupied  to  dust  out. 
We  cannot  always  be  changing  and  redisposing,  it  is  true;  some 
resting  place  for  the  really  valuable  we  must  have ;  but  if  some 
fine  day  we  wake  up  to  the  fact  that  much  that  we  have 
cherished  is  no  longer  precious,  or  if  upon  our  demise  our 
executors  pitch  the  whole  content  into  the  discard,  we  cannot 
complain. 

Your  true  conservative,  however,  does  not  use  his  mental 
compartments  intelligently — as  intelligently  at  any  rate  as  a 
modern  business  office  does  its  filing  system.  He  allows  no  cross 
references,  and  his  follow-ups  are  persistently  along  one  line, 
even  though  it  be  unprofitable.  Ideas  are  valuable  only  in 
pairs  or  multiples.  Ingrown  philosophies  grow  stale  and  lose 
their  savor.  Cultures  are  best  when  cross-fertilized. 

But  a  mind  constructed  wholly  on  the  compartment  plan  Is 
practically  idea-proof.  Such  a  mind  may  exhibit  the  most 
startling  contrasts  and  inconsistencies.  Such  a  man’s  life  is 
not  a  unit.  The  different  phases  of  his  experience,  however 
broad  the  ground  covered  may  be  nominally,  remain  unco-ordi- 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


41 


nate.  What  he  gets,  or  might  get,  from  variety  of  group  contacts, 
from  acquaintance  with  different  fields  of  thought,  is  kept  tied 
up  and  put  away  in  its  own  proper  cubby  hole.  The  cards  are 
never  shuffled.  There  is  no  cross  fertilization  between  the  various 
kinds  of  knowledge  or  culture  which  such  an  individual  may 
have  acquired.  A  resourceful  and  inventive  engineer  may  be  a 
dub  when  it  comes  to  politics.  Many  a  priest  and  many  a  profes¬ 
sor  says  one  thing  to-day  and  thinks  another  to-night,  because 
his  real  outlook  upon  the  present  spiritual  and  social  needs  of 
the  wTorld  would  play  havoc  with  his  religious  or  educational 
formulas,  did  he  not  keep  the  two  prudently  segregated.  The 
compartmentized  mind  is  thus  both  a  result  and  a  cause  of 
conservatism — fundamentally  of  laziness  and  of  fear. 

Specialization  thus  has  a  bearing  on  the  psychology  of 
conservatism  and  radicalism.  In  the  first  place,  a  man’s  voca¬ 
tional  and  business  interests  make  him  conservative,  in  matters 
wherei  they  are  concerned.  Specialism,  making  a  man  an  expert 
in  a  narrow  field  but  leaving  him  essentially  ignorant  otherwise, 
probably  exerts  some  tendency  toward  the  continuance  of  that 
quasi-instinctive  fear  of  the  unfamiliar  which  we  have  seen  to 
be  an  important  factor  in  the  conservative  attitude.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  must  be  confessed  that  not  a  few  specialists  who 
rightly  deprecate  the  intrusion  of  untrained  laymen  into  their 
fields,  often  themselves  rush  into  the  territory  of  others,  where 
angels  fear  to  tread,  with  consideration  so  crude  that  it  reveals 
at  once  the  egotism  of  their  ignorance.  Whether  specialism 
tends  to  make  a  man  conservative,  progressive,  or  radical,  in 
matters  upon  which  he  is  not  specially  trained,  will  depend  upon 
the  nature  of  his  work  and  upon  his  temperament.  It  is  safe 
to  guess  that  there  are  not  many"  socialists  among  Catholic 
priests  or  many  educational  reformers  among  professors  of  Greek. 

The  cleavage  between  radicalism  or  progressivism  and  conser¬ 
vatism  or  reaction  in  the  same  mind  often  is  on  the  line  dividing 
aim  from  method,  end  from  means.  History  affords  striking 
illustration  of  the  fact  that  conservative  aims  are  often  attained 
through  radical  innovation  of  method — witness  the  United  States 
Constitution.  Contrariwise  the  older  leaders  of  radical  move¬ 
ments  generally  show  a  noteworthy  tendency  to  become  conserva¬ 
tive  in  the  methods  they  sanction — witness  the  history  of  trade 


42  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

unionism,  and  the  stagnation  of  the  woman  suffrage  movement 
until  in  England  the  militant  “suffragettes”  and  in  America 
the  National  Woman’s  Party  put  life  into  it  and  by  radical 
methods  made  it  a  national  political  issue.  The  tendency  for 
aging  leaders  to  harden  into  the  shell  of  conservative  sentiment 
and  procedure,  and  the  counteracting  impulse  of  new  blood  to 
dissatisfaction  with  established  policies  that  lack  spirit  and 
effectiveness,  explain  the  schisms  to  which  all  lasting  reform 
movements  and  organizations  are  sooner  or  later  subject. 
Witness  the  development  of  sectarianism  in  the  church,  the 
break-up  and  realignment  of  political  parties,  and  the  continual 
rebudding  of  new  schools  of  art  and  criticism. 

Having  attempted  to  suggest  the  sources  in  instinctive  fear 
and  social  habituation  of  the  disinterested  conservative  attitude, 
and  to  point  out  the  more  significant  features  of  the  conservative 
mind,  we  must  now  examine  more  in  detail  the  processes  by 
which  the  conservative  attitude  is  developed  and  fixed  in 
personality. 

3.  The  Making  of  the  Conservative 

The  ultimate  sources  of  conservatism,  especially  in  its  tempera¬ 
mental  or  instinctive  aspects,  must  be  sought  in  the  facts  of 
biological  evolution;  specifically  in  the  necessity  for  adaptation 
of  the  organism  to  its  environment  and  the  consequent  develop¬ 
ment  and  fixation  in  heredity  of  the  traits  requisite  to  survival. 

Ever  since  the  work  of  Charles  Darwin,  sociologists  and 
anthropologists  have  applied  the  doctrine  of  struggle  for  exist¬ 
ence,  natural  selection,  and  survival  of  the  fittest  to  the  explana¬ 
tion  of  social  evolution  and  the  development  of  types  of  society. 
For  a  time,  especially  after  the  publication,  in  1885,  of  August 
Weismann’s  theory  of  the  non-inheritability  (in  organic  hered¬ 
ity)  of  acquired  characteristics,  many  writers  on  social  evolution 
placed  almost  exclusive  emphasis  on  elimination  of  the  unfit 
and  selection  of  the  fit  as  the  only  permanent  method  of  progress. 
Crude  analogical  application  of  the  doctrine  of  natural  selection 
to  human  affairs  was  the  fashion  of  the  time,12  but  riper  and 
less  one-sided  scholarship  has  shown  that  selection  is  only  one 
of  many  agencies  of  social  evolution. 

12  Perhaps  the  most  typical  example  of  this  type  of  social  theory  was 
that  advanced  in  Benjamin  Kidd’s  Social  Evolution,  1894. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


43 


Nevertheless,  certain  important  facts  remain.  Nature  is  the 
realm  of  an  unceasing  struggle  for  existence  (a)  between 
individuals  of  the  same  species  (where  mitigating  influences 
do  not  enter  in),  and  (b)  between  species.  The  success  of  the 
individual  in  this  struggle  depends  primarily  on  his  own 
characteristics  (his  “ fitness”)  and  secondly,  upon  the  degree 
to  which  cohesion,  mutual  aid,  and  co-operation  have  been 
developed  in  the  group  to  which  he  belongs.  The  characteristics 
of  any  individual  are  the  combined  product  of  his  organic 
heredity — the  potential  characteristics  he  has  at  birth,  if  we 
disregard  the  ante-natal  environmental  factors — and  of  sug¬ 
gestion,  training,  education,  and  experience.  Through  organic 
heredity,  variation,  and  selection,  the  species  is  adapted  to 
its  environment.  This  process  we  may  call  phylogenetic  adap¬ 
tion.  Those  individuals  survive  which  have  the  hereditary 
traits  suitable  to  adjustment  to  the  environment.  Given  this 
hereditary  basis,  adjustment  to  environment  is  further  brought 
about  by  habituation  and  (when  we  reach  man)  by  training 
and  education.  In  general,  the  fitting  of  the  individual  to  his 
environment  through  individual  habituation  and  experience  may 
be  called  ontogenetic  adaptation.  Ontogenetic  adaptation  is 
impossible  or  imperfect  in  the  case  of  those  individuals  who 
lack  the  proper  phylogenetic  characteristics.  Thus  the  heredi¬ 
tarily  feeble-minded  are  phylogenetically  unfit  for  successful 
individual  adjustment  to  the  demands  of  life  in  modern  society. 

The  psychology  of  this  ontogenetic  adaptation  or  habituation 
is  succinctly  set  forth  by  Veblen: 

“What  men  can  do  easily  is  what  they  do  habitually,  and  this 
decides  what  they  can  think  and  know  easily.  They  feel  at 
home  in  the  range  of  ideas  which  is  familiar  through  their 
everyday  line  of  action.  A  habitual  line  of  action  constitutes 
a  habitual  line  of  thought,  and  gives  the  point  of  view  from 
which  facts  and  events  are  apprehended  and  reduced  to  a  body 
of  knowledge.  What  is  consistent  with  the  habitual  course  of 
action  is  consistent  with  the  habitual  line  of  thought,  and  gives 
the  definitive  ground  of  knowledge  as  well  as  the  conventional 
standard  of  complacency  or  approval  in  any  community. 
Conversely,  a  process  or  method  of  life,  once  understood,  assimi¬ 
lated  in  thought,  works  into  the  general  scheme  of  life  and 
becomes  a  norm  of  conduct,  simply  because  the  thinking,  know- 


44  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

ing  agent  is  also  the  acting  agent.  What  is  apprehended  with 
facility  and  is  consistent  with  the  process  of  life  and  knowledge 
is  thereby  apprehended  as  right  and  good.  All  this  applies  with 
added  force  where  the  habituation  is  not  simply  individual  and 
sporadic,  but  is  enforced  upon  the  group  or  the  race  by  a 
selective  elimination  of  those  individuals  and  lines  of  descent 
that  do  not  conform  to  the  required  canon  of  knowledge  and 
conduct.  Where  this  takes  place,  the  acquired  proclivity  passes 
from  the  status  of  habit  to  that  of  aptitude  or  propensity.  It 
becomes  a  transmissible  trait,  and  action  under  its  guidance 
becomes  right  and  good,  and  the  longer  and  more  consistent  the 
selective  adaptation  through  which  the  aptitude  arises,  the  more 
firmly  is  the  resulting  aptitude  settled  upon  the  race,  and  the 
more  unquestioned  becomes  the  sanction  of  the  resulting  canon 
of  conduct.”13 

Within  a  given  group,  the  struggle  for  existence  is  tempered 
and  modified.  The  herds  of  wild  horses  on  Asiatic  steppes,  and 
human  beings,  may  compete  in  internal  strife  with  one  another 
with  brutal  intensity,  but  the  individual  horses  which  compose 
a  given  herd  will  join  forces  in  repelling  attacks  by  carnivorous 
beasts,14  and  the  human  inhabitants  of  a  country  will  combine, 
in  spite  of  bitter  internal  struggle  for  subsistence,  to  the  best 
of  their  ability  to  repel  a  foreign  invader.  Mutual  aid,  as 
Kropotkin  and  others  have  pointed  out,  thus  becomes  an  impor¬ 
tant  factor  in  survival.  Co-operation  depends  on  the  cohesion 
and  organization  of  the  group.  The  group  which  stands  together 
survives;  that  which  does  not,  perishes.  In  species  below  man, 
group  cohesiveness  is  based  mainly  on  instinct;  in  man  partly 
on  instinct,  partly  on  habituation  and  adjustment. 

Thus,  through  various  selective  processes  in  human  society, 
a  premium  is  put  on  conformity,  loyalty,  and  obedience  to 
authority.  Intolerance  of  nonconformity,  of  individuality,  and 
of  independence  of  judgment  becomes  a  social  virtue.  Public 
sentiment  becomes  an  intimidating  force,  and  fear  hastens 
conformity  to  its  behests. 

It  is  impossible  at  present  to  say  to  what  degree  tendencies 

13  “The  Instinct  of  Workmanship  and  the  Irksomeness  of  Labor,”  Amer¬ 
ican  Journal  of  Sociology,  Sept.,  1893,  p.  195. 

14  See  P.  Kropotkin,  Mutual  Aid  a  Factor  of  Evolution,  1902,  Ch.  2. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


45 


to  conservative  conformity  to  the  group’s  needs  or  supposed 
needs  are  due  to  organic  heredity,  and  to  what  degree,  to  onto¬ 
genetic  adjustment.  It  is  possible  to  argue  that  in  the  long 
evolutionary  struggle  of  group  with  group  the  “ brain  patterns” 
proper  to  conservative  conformity  and  group  cohesiveness  were 
developed  through  variation  and  selection  and  handed  down  by 
organic  heredity.  These  inherited  behavior-patterns  would 
consist  of  certain  sets  of  synapses,  nerve-cell  connections,  such 
as  would  produce  conservative,  protective  attitudes  and  reactions 
on  the  part  of  the  individuals  of  each  successive  generation. 
In  the  light  of  advances  now  being  made  in  our  knowledge  of 
the  physiological  bases  of  human  behavior,  the  analysis  would 
run  not  in  terms  of  brain  patterns  but  in  terms  of  the  inherited 
structure  and  nature  of  the  “ organism  as  a  whole” — neural, 
glandular,  and  muscular.  On  some  such  lines  would  be  laid 
down  the  argument  for  the  hereditary  nature  of  conservatism. 
It  is  quite  within  reason  to  suppose  that  long  ages  of  fear- 
reactions  and  life  in  groups,  both  in  the  human  species  and  its 
ape-like  progenitors,  may,  through  selective  processes,  have 
developed  an  organic  type  which  would  necessarily  involve, 
even  in  the  absence  of  ontogenetic  adaptation  and  the  compul¬ 
sory  influence  of  authority  and  public  sentiment,  a  temperamen¬ 
tal  conservative  tendency. 

Even  though  organic  inheritance  of  conservative  behavior 
patterns  may  not  enter  into  the  problem,  the  selective  influences 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  individual  in  any  society  are  sufficient 
as  an  anthropological  explanation  of  the  prevalence  of  the 
conservative  attitude.  As  Lapouge 15  and  others  have  shown, 
those  who  have  not  conformed  to  the  economic,  political,  moral, 
and  religious  prescriptions  of  their  time  and  society  have  fallen 
prey  to  factional  conflict  or  been  put  under  the  ban  of  the  law, 
and  if  not  actually  killed  off,  as  in  the  Homan  proscriptions  and 
the  Inquisition,  have  been  put  to  such  economic  and  social 
disadvantage  that  they  have  either  left  the  country  or  failed 
to  transmit  their  nonconformist  tendencies  to  a  numerous 
progeny. 

Only  in  times  of  rapid  social  change  are  the  conservatives 
as  likely  to  be  eliminated  as*  are  progressives  and  radicals.  In 


15  Les  Selections  Sociales,  1S9G. 


46  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

times  of  revolution  they  may  be  in  even  more  danger,  and  may 
die  in  great  numbers,  as  the  French  and  Russian  Revolutions 
show,  because  revolutionary  radicalism  is  not  likely  to  be  more 
fastidious  in  method  than  is  counter-revolutionary  reactionism, 
and  because,  also,  habitual  conservatives  lack  the  power  of 
flexible  adjustment  to  changing  social  norms  and  group 
needs  * 

While  biological  selection  is  undoubtedly  at  work  in  human 
society,  and  while  normally  it  probably  tends  to  the  survival 
of  conservative  rather  than  radically  inclined  types,  it  is’ 
obscured  by  ontogenetic  selective  adaptation — the  training  of 
individuals  to  habitual  adjustment  to  a  given  social  environment. 
In  the  making  of  the  conservative  the  learning  process  plays 
a  much  more  prominent  part  than  does  hereditary  adaptation. 
The  hereditary  foundation  is  present  but  the  superstructure 
is  the  product  of  adaptive  education. 

A  baby  comes  into  the  world  with  no  equipment  save  a  few 
simple  reflexes,  useful  in  the  initiation  of  immediately  neces¬ 
sary  adjustment,  and  a  few  potential  instincts.  Some  of  these 
will  help  to  adapt  it  to  the  demands  of  the  social  environment, 
and  some  will  very  likely  prove  to  be  impediments  to  that  adap¬ 
tation.  The  child  is  thus  preponderantly  a  social  product,  as 
Cooley  means  to  say  when  he  says  that  “Self  and  society  are 
twin-born,  ’  ’  and  as  a  long  line  of  psychologists  have  pointed  out. 
Into  the  hereditary  vessel,  if  we  may  speak  figuratively,  is  put, 
through  the  learning  process  and  the  pressure  of  social  con¬ 
trols,  such  mental  content — habit,  knowledge,  sentiment,  in 
short,  behavior-patterns — as  society  deems  expedient.  The  ves¬ 
sel  itself  is  plastic,  within  limits,  and  as  the  growth  process 
goes  on,  the  direction  and  extent  of  that  growth  is  determined 
by  the  nature  of  opportunity  offered  and  the  stringency  of  the 
controls  operative. 

It  is  important,  in  arriving  at  an  understanding  of  the  devel¬ 
opment  of  conservative  or  radical  sentiments,  to  remember  that 
the  growth  and  adaptation  of  the  child’s  mentality  consist  not 
only  in  developing  powers  of  perception,  knowledge,  intelligence, 

16  On  selection  in  relation  to  conservatism,  see  Yeblen,  The  Theory  of 
the  Leisure  Class,  1899,  especially  the  two  illuminating  chapters  on 
“Industrial  Exemption  and  Conservatism”  and  “The  Conservation  of 
Archaic  Traits.” 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


47 


and  rational  faculty,  but  also,  as  human  life  goes,  much  more 
significantly,  in  the  development  of  sentiments  and  attitudes  and 
in  the  special  trend  or  training  given  the  child’s  emotions.  In 
fact,  most  of  our  popular  educational  institutions,  home,  school, 
church,  athletics,  and  amusement,  seem  to  be  much  more  con¬ 
cerned  with  emotional  reactions  and  sentiments  than  with  the 
intellective’  side  of  personality.  In  other  words,  a  very  large 
part  of  the  social  disciplining  of  child  and  youth  is  inculcation, 
through  association,  imitation,  emulative  stimulus,  and  direct 
precept,  of  the  sentiments  assumed  to  be  proper  to  the  social 
environment  in  which  the  child  is  to  live. 

This  sentimental  adjustment  is  never,  of  course,  quite  com¬ 
pleted  in  anyone’s  life.  The  individual  himself  changes;  from 
the  organic  changes  incident  to  increasing  age,  if  from  nothing 
else.  Minor  readjustments  of  habit-routine  are  constantly  nec¬ 
essary,  as  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  completely  static, 
changeless  society.  Thus  both  from  within  and  without,  the 
individual  is  forced  to  readjustment,  which  at  times  may  ap¬ 
proach  a  catastrophic  character,  as  at  adolescence,  but  which 
ordinarily  may  be  made  so  gradually  as  not  to  awaken  any  great 
fear  or  seriously  disturb  the  equilibrium  of  contentment.  In 
periods,  unlike  our  own,  not  marked  by  extraordinarily  rapid 
social  transformation,  an  adjustment,  a  working  basis  of  habit- 
response,  once  established,  may  remain  relatively  unchanged 
during  the  individual’s  entire  life.  Barring  periods  of  catas¬ 
trophic  revolution  or  exceptionally  accelerated  evolution,  nine- 
tenths  of  the  life  of  each  one  of  us  is  lived  out  on  the  plane  and 
within  the  fabric  of  this  habituation  to  existing  institutions, 
customs,  and  controls. 

And  that  is  almost  equivalent  to  saying,  that  however  “pro¬ 
gressive”  or  “radical”  our  sentiments  and  desires  may  be  with 
regard  to  important  phases  of  life,  we  are  at  bottom  nine-tenths 
conservative.  Like  Crusoe,  we  carry  over  into  a  new  situation 
all  the  established  habits  which  we  can  make  work  there,  and, 
as  every  revolution  shows,  a  distressingly  large  number  which 
we  cannot  make  work  under  the  new  conditions. 

Full  understanding  of  conservatism  and  other  social  attitudes, 
and  especially  of  the  way  attitudes  are  produced  by  the  opera¬ 
tion  of  social  influences,  cannot  be  reached  without  detailed 
study  of  the  various  forms  and  agencies  of  social  control.  These 


48  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

agencies,  as  discussed  by  Ross/7  are  public  opinion,  law,  belief, 
social  suggestion,  education,  custom,  religion,  social  types  and 
personal  ideals,  ceremony,  art,  illusion,  social  valuation.  These 
are  not  all  co-ordinate  in  character  or  importance,  and  some  of 
them  overlap.  Other  agencies  which  will  suggest  themselves  to 
the  reader  are  family  environment,  economic  processes  and  in¬ 
dustrial  organization,  literature  (including  the  daily  newspaper), 
and  political  organization  and  ideals.  All  of  these  are  important 
forms  or  avenues  of  control,  but  most  of  them  perhaps  might 
be  included  under  one  or  more  of  Ross’  heads.  We  shall  not 
attempt  to  touch  upon  the  influence  of  all  these  agencies,  but 
will  confine  ourselves  to  a  few  observations,  largely  upon  the 
educational  process  as  related  to  the  production  and  perpetua¬ 
tion  of  the  conservative  attitude. 

An  extremely  important  fact  to  be  kept  in  mind  is  that  the 
pressure  of  the  whole  social  organism,  intent  with  all  its  author¬ 
ity,  controls,  institutions,  and  processes,  on  the  creation  and 
perpetuation  of  proper  sentiments  and  attitudes,  is  thrown  upon 
the  individual  during  the  most  formative  years  of  childhood 
and  youth  when  he  has  the  least  defense  against  it. 

The  family,  with  its  parental  solicitudes  and  disciplines,  is 
some  defense  against  external  social  pressure,  but  is  itself  usu¬ 
ally  a  faithful  reflection  of  the  society  round  about  it.  Family 
training  is  authoritative,  and  from  the  first,  in  the  very  nature 
and  purpose  of  its  function,  has  to  be  highly  and  directly  con¬ 
servative  in  its  influence.  The  child  is  trained  to  his  parents’ 
conceptions  and  standards  of  life,  and  so  long  as  the  parents  can 
prevent  it,  is  not  ordinarily  encouraged,  or  even  permitted,  to 
deviate  from  those  valuations.  As  they  see  the  world,  they  ex¬ 
pect  him  to  see  it.  In  a  measure,  this  authoritative  imposition 
of  habit,  values,  and  viewpoints  is  necessary  to  the  protection 
of  the  child;  but  practically  it  usually  means  that  he  has  much 
to  unlearn  later  on. 

It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  the  moral  function  of  the  family 
is  very  generally  extolled  as  precisely  this  function  of  incul¬ 
cating  conservative,  conformist  attitudes.  This  means  usually 
that  in  the  family,  as  in  the  church,  constant  attempt  is  made 
to  fix  in  the  child’s  personality  sentiments  and  standards  at  a 


17  See  E.  A.  Ross,  Social  Control ,  1904. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


49 


time  when  he  has  no  critical  capacity  to  judge  their  value.  In 
fact,  about  the  last  thing  the  family  or  the  church  does  is  to 
encourage  thei  development  of  the  critical  faculty.  The  child’s 
own  moral  judgments,  should  he  betray  any  incipient  tendency 
to  form  any,  are  too  frequently  peremptorily  cut  off.  There  is 
good  psychology  in  the  declaration  traditionally  attributed  to 
the  Jesuits  that  if  they  can  have  the  training  of  the  child  until 
he  is  seven  they  care  not  who  has  him  thereafter.  The  moral 
right  of  parents  to  impose  their  sentiments  and  attitudes  upon 
the  child  is  seldom  questioned,18  although  it  must  be  confessed 
that  the  effectiveness  of  parental  discipline  seems  to  have  waned 
greatly,  under  the  strain  of  competition  with  other  and  some¬ 
what  commercialized  formative  influences. 

The  school  subjects  the  child  to  a  second  set  of  habit-forming 
influences,  in  part  similar  to  those  of  home,  in  part  additional 
and  different.  As  the  school’s  chief  function  is  to  enable  the 
child  to  live  in  the  social  group,  it  naturally  teaches  first  of  all, 
like  the  home,  the  things  most  prized  by  the  group,  the  things 
considered  most  necessary  to  survival  and  success,  both  of  the 
individual  in  the  group  and  of  the  group  itself.  The  central 
foundation  of  education  is  the  established  and  the  generally 
accepted — the  conventions,  beliefs,  judgments,  and  valuations 
sanctioned  by  the  authority  of  use,  traditional  continuity,  public 
sentiment,  and  whatever  prestiges  and  prejudices  happen  to  be 
prevalent.  Much  effort  as  has  been,  and  may  be,  spent  on  the 
“enrichment”  and  humanizing  of  the  school  curriculum,  the 
fact  remains  that  practically  all  that  the  child  learns  in  the 
grades  and  most  that  he  learns  in  the  high  school,  if  he  is  for¬ 
tunate  enough  to  get  that  far,  Is  learned  through  a  process  of 
authoritative  imposition,  and  in  great  measure  mechanically. 
Not  only  that,  but  it  also  consists  of  subject  matter  designed  to 
give  him  the  simple  mechanical,  symbolical,  and  logical  equip¬ 
ment  necessary  for  every-day  life  and  communication — reading, 
writing,  composition,  arithmetic,  language,  and  the  orientating 
subjects  of  geography  and  history.  Some  slight  contact  is  occa¬ 
sionally  afforded  with  the  interesting  fields  of  science,  literature, 
and  the  fine  arts,  and  some  training  in  the  healthful  and  efficient 

18  But  see  Havelock  Ellis’  Essay  on  “Religion  and  the  Child,”  in  The 
Task  of  Social  Hygiene ,  1912. 


50  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

use  of  the  human  body.  On  the  other  hand,  the  average  school 
commonly  grants  to  the  average  boy  or  girl  little  scope  for  indi¬ 
viduality,  small  outlet  for  the  aptitudes  of  self-expression  and 
workmanship.  Least  of  all  is  any  attempt  made  to  awaken  and 
develop  the  critical  faculties.  The  child  has  to  acquire  so  much' 
necessary  information ,  and  is  made  to  acquire  so  much  that  is 
useless  if  not  misinformation,  the  impedimenta  of  tradition,  that 
he  is  not  given  time  to  think,  even  if  he  is  so  disposed.  All  this 
information  is  absorbed  from  authority  of  teacher  and  textbook, 
chiefly  in  a  memorizing  process — which  may  ultimately  land  the 
student  into  the  ranks  of  Phi  Beta  Kappa,  yet  leave  him  devoid 
of  wisdom  and  understanding,  and  almost  certainly  deficient  in 
what  Dewey  calls  creative  intelligence. 

The  influence  of  the  school,  in  short,  is  almost  as  productive 
of  uncritical  conservatism  as  that  of  the  home.  This  is  true 
even  if  we  leave  entirely  out  of  account  the  patent  fact  that  the 
schools  consciously  devote  themselves  to  the  inculcation  of  con¬ 
servative  attitudes  and  if  we  refuse  to  believe  that  special  vested 
interests,  under  one  pretext  or  another,  use  our  educational 
institutions  for  their  own  propagandistic  purposes. 

The  existing  and  accepted  social  order,  which  thus  somewhat 
inevitably  lays  its  whole  pressure  upon  developing  youth,  is 
itself  the  product  of  socially  planless  accretion  from  a  past 
which  is  dead  in  fact,  but  vicariously  living  in  the  present.  The 
past  stands  in  a  relation  of  causal  organic  continuity  to  the 
present.  It  has  an  interest  both  in  its  own  right,  as  any  story 
or  drama  has,  and  also  because  it  contains,  if  it  can  be  located, 
the  key  to  the  explanation  of  the  present.  We  turn  to  the  past 
for  poetic  and  dramatic  material,  because  there  is  something 
there  which  makes  a  powerful  appeal  to  sentiment.  But  we 
also,  in  a  more  intellective  and  rational  way,  appeal  to  the  past 
to  give  up  this  key  of  explanation.  Both  barbarous  and  civil¬ 
ized  men  seek  genetic  explanations  of  phenomena.  Since  the 
present  contains  the  accretions  of  the  past,  crystallized  and 
encysted  in  custom,  political  organization,  religious  belief,  phil¬ 
osophies,  literature,  economic  processes,  and  inherited  conven¬ 
tions  of  thought,  it  is  natural  that  educational  processes  should 
give  much  attention  to  the  past,  and  that  history  especially,  and 
to  a  lesser  extent  literature  and  languages,  should  be  studied 
primarily  as  records.  This  is  now  done,  however,  without  any 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  51 

very  intelligent  attempt  always  to  relate  the  experience  of  the 
past  to  the  problems  and  tasks  of  the  present. 

The  mind  of  child  and  youth  in  the  schools  is  rarely  turned 
to  the  future,  except  in  so  far  as  the  schools  recognize  and  util¬ 
ize  the  life  career  motive’7 — the  future  vocational  interest — 
to  secure  attention  and  application  to  work.  We  are  occupied 
with  the  formal  and  symbolical  subjects  of  language  and  mathe¬ 
matics,  with  geography  and  science  (which  we  may,  or  may 
not,  realize  to  have  some  connection  with  the  present),  and  with 
history,  which  is  always  written  in  the  past  tense.  Sometimes 
our  teachers  draw  historical  parallels  between  the  past  and 
present  for  us,  but  we — and  sometimes  they — know  so  little 
about  the  real  organization,  the  real  movements,  and  the  real 
issues  of  the  present,  that  somehow  the  parallel  fails  to  seem 
strikingly  significant.  Sometimes,  too,  they  attempt  to  predict 
or  moralize  for  the  future,  on  grounds  of  historical  experience. 
This  sounds  reasonable  and  of  value  at  first,  but  we  become 
mildly  skeptical — if  our  youthful  tendency  to  be  critical  is  not 
too  much  repressed — when  we  discover  that  nearly  everybody 
who  has  a  pet  aversion  to  a  given  present  tendency  or  proposed 
reform  manages  to  convince  himself,  and  tries  to  convince  us, 
that  something  very  similar  was  the  cause  of  the  decline  and  fall 
of  the  Roman  Empire.  The  net  result  of  historical  study  in  the 
schools  is  in  favor  of  conservatism,  although  this  need  not 
necessarily  be  so.lu  Every  observant  teacher  knows  that  exami¬ 
nation  papers  are  nearly  always  written  in  the  past  tense,  as  if 
all  that  the  student  is  ever  concerned  with  is  the  history  of  dead 
men’s  ideas. 

The  net  result  of  school  and  home  training,  as  well  as  of  gen¬ 
eral  social  pressure,  is  to  cause  youth  to  accept  the  society  into 
which  Re  is  born,  and  to  which  he  is  trained,  as  a  static  and  final 
thing Much  of  our  education,  accordingly,  tends  to  perpetuate 


*  See  J.  H.  Robinson,  The  New  History ,  1912,  Ch.  8,  on  “The  Spirit 
of  Conservatism  in  the  Light  of  History.”  See  also  The  Mind  in  the 
Making,  1922,  pp.  18ff,  by  the  same  writer. 

20  It  is  true  nowadays  that  many  children  are  born  into  families 
that  belong  to  social  ranks  in  which  radicalism  is  prevalent,  and  the 
present  order  is  habitually  held  in  disregard,  in  which  there  is  a  sort 
of  blind,  religious  faith — an  uncritical  faith — that  socialism  or  some 
other  ism  will  soon  usher  in  a  glorious  and  flawless  future.  But  if  this 
uncritical  radical  spirit  is  all  that  surrounds  the  child,  it  can  hardly 


52  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

the  class  standards  and  interests  which  have  been  developing 
in  this  country  as  surely  as  they  have  developed  and  perpetuated 
themselves  in  older  countries,  however  much  our  conventional 
“democracy”  tradition  and  “equal-opportunity”  cant  may  lead 
us  to  ignore  or  disguise  the  fact.  Vocational  education,  neces¬ 
sary  and  progressive  movement  as  it  is,  may  still  further  in¬ 
crease  this  tendency  to  training  that  develops  class  distinctions 
and  class  ideals.  It  is  quite  likely  that  “training  for  citizen¬ 
ship”  in  unintelligent  hands  or  under  the  semi-official  auspices 
of  vested  interests,  may  contribute  to  the  same  result.21  Con¬ 
servative  training,  both  secular  and  ecclesiastical,  has  generally 
aimed  at  contentment  and  subserviency  on  the  part  of  the  masses. 
Higher  education,  until  the  Germans  made  it  a  matter  of  Kultur 
technique,  was  mainly  a  matter  of  “culture”  and  the  “gentle¬ 
man”  ideal.  It  largely  remains  so,  where  the  individualistic 
vocational  motive  has  not  made  inroads.  The  American  high 
school,  especially,  imitating  the  curriculum  and  the  spirit  of  the 
American  college,  fell  victim  to  its  appeal.  Thousands  of  Amer¬ 
ican  parents  at  each  June  commencement  season  feel  a  glow 
of  pride  that  their  children  have  secured  a  high  school  “educa¬ 
tion.”  This  is  due  not  so  much  to  a  supposition  that  the  high 
school  has  fitted  Tom  and  Jennie  for  a  useful  occupation  (for 
it  usually  has  not)  as  to  the  fact  that  they  have  studied  (?) 
solid  geometry,  Shakespeare,  and  French  (which  they  will  never 
use)  ;  aped  the  fraternities,  the  rushes,  the  yells,  the  dances, 
and  the  general  “varsity”  air  of  the  colleges;  and  are  felt  to  be 
a  little  superior  to  the  ordinary  common  run  of  boys  and  girls. 
It  is  of  course  natural  that  Tom  and  Jennie  should  share  in  this 
family  and  class  pride,  and  accept  the  superior  (though  in  part 
somewhat  shoddy)  opportunities  of  their  class  as  their  natural 
due — as  perhaps  they  are. 

Should  we  turn  from  the  day  schools  to  the  Sunday  schools 
and  to  the  general  routine  and  ceremonial  of  the  church  we 
should  find  influences  and  agencies  even  more  conservative  of 
traditional  values  and  attitudes.  Comparatively  little  of  the 
so-called  religious  training  of  the  child  and  adolescent  in  Sun- 

be  said  to  give  promise  of  a  scientific  attitude,  or  to  be  less  dangerous 
to  productive  originality  than  is  the  prevalent  authoritative  conserva¬ 
tive  spirit. 

21  Cf .  J.  H.  Robinson,  The  Mind  in  the  Making ,  1922,  pp.  20-23. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


53 


day  school  is  calculated  to  develop  anything  but  unquestioning 
and  unintelligent  acceptance  of  a  list  of  static  moral  maxims. 
The  major  portion  of  moral  and  religious  education  has  been  a 
training  in  acquiescence  to  authority,  with  little  vision  of  any 
possible,  other,  or  better  system  of  moral,  economic,  or  political 
ideals  than  those  which  are  now  nominally  accepted  if  not  put 
into  practice.  Sunday  school  literature  has  scarcely  anywhere 
got  beyond  the  conception  that  moral  relations  are  all  personal. 
It  still  dwells  on  personal  sins  and  the  personal  conventional 
virtues,  and  does  not  realize  the  pressing  need  of  a  new  code, 
or  a  restatement  of  Christian  principles  to  fit  the  impersonal, 
corporate  relations  and  processes  of  our  modern  industrial 
society.22 

The  general  influence  of  the  church,  however,  has  noticeably 
declined,  so  that  its  importance  as  a  conserving  agency,  except 
perhaps  in  the  more  rural  regions  of  the  South  and  West,  may 
easily  be  overestimated.23 

In  so  far  as  the  church  is  an  effective  agency  for  education 
in  social  ethics  and  not  merely  a  medium  for  the  perpetuation 
of  archaic  ceremonial  and  ecclesiastical  intolerance,  its  decline 
may  be  regretted.  For  while  many  thinking  people  believe  that 
ethical  training,  which  the  Greeks  made  a  central  feature  of 
their  educational  practice,  should  be  largely  taken  over  by  the 
public  schools,  and  divorced  from  mysticism  and  supernatural¬ 
ism,  the  public  school  authorities  have  either  been  too  timid  or 
too  preoccupied  with  other  matters  as  yet  to  have  made  much 
headway  in  this  direction.  Ethics  and  other  social  “ sciences,’ 7 
except  history  and  a  formalistic  civics,  have  been  left  to  be 
studied  by  the  small  percentage  of  young  men  and  women  who 
go  to  college,  and  by  only  a  fraction  of  them.  So  that  the  non- 
church-going  youths  of  to-day — doubtless  the  vast  majority — ■ 
are  left  to  absorb  their  general  ethics,  as  they  absorb  their  sex 
ideas,  from  the  highways  and  byways  of  chance  association. 

22  See  Ross,  Sin  and  Society,  1907.  Reference  may  here  he  made  to 
the  “Children’s  Code  of  Morals”  for  elementary  schools,  by  President 
William  J.  Hutchins,  of  Beyea  College.  While  this  Code  is  mainly  in 
terms  of  personal  morality  there  is  strong  suggestion  of  the  social  ele¬ 
ment.  The  pamphlet  may  be  had  from  the  National  Institution  for 
Moral  Instruction,  Chevy  Chase,  Washington,  D.  C. 

23  See  Bernard  Iddings  Bell,  “The  Church  and  the  Civilian  Young 
Man,”  Atlantic  Monthly,  September,  1919. 


54  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

Not  only  is  the  shaping  power  of  the  existing  social  organiza¬ 
tion  and  social  institutions  thrown  against  developing  youth 
with  all  the  weight  of  authority,  and  all  the  logic  of  the  neces¬ 
sary  adjustment  of  the  individual  to  the  ways  of  the  group; 
his  susceptibilities  are  played  upon  with  all  the  attractive  force 
of  their  respective  prestiges.  A  social  agency  is  influential, 
other  things  being  equal,  in  proportion  to  its  power  of  impres¬ 
sion.  Everybody  knows  in  a  superficial  and  general  way 
what  prestige  is,  no  one  entirely  escapes  its  influence,  and  most 
people  consciously  set  a  high  valuation  upon  it.  Those  who  do 
not  have  it  would  like  to  attain  it,  and  those  who  have  it  usually 
guard  it  as  a  valuable  asset.  Yet  it  is  hard  to  define  ;  and  the 
ultimate  motives  behind  its  influence  are  complex  and  variable, 
probably  resting  back  upon  instinctive  characteristics. 

Webster’s  Dictionary  defines  prestige  as  “the  influence  which 
accompanies  or  follows  successful  accomplishment,” — a  defec¬ 
tive  definition  in  that  it  does  not  apply  to  people  who  have  not 
themselves  accomplished  anything  and  who,  judged  by  any 
standard  of  social  utility,  amount  to  little  or  nothing  yet  still 
have  prestige.  A  definition  more  to  the  point  is  that  given  by 
Ross :  ‘  ‘  Prestige  is  that  which  excites  such  wonder  or  admira¬ 
tion  as  to  paralyze  the  critical  faculty.  ’  ’ 24  It  is  this  impairment 
of  the  critical  faculty  (paralysis  is  perhaps  too  strong  a  term) 
which  gives  imputed  superiority  its  magnetic  or  impressive 
power. 

Prestige  flows  from  the  possession  or  the  reputed  possession 
of  characteristics  which  people  value  highly.  It  derives  its  in¬ 
fluence  from  two  sources:  (1)  the  power,  or  supposed  power, 
which  its  possessor  (whether  individual,  class,  or  institution) 
has,  and  (2)  the  quasi-instinctive  desires  for  recognition  and 
distinction,  and  the  allied  tendency  to  self-abasement.  The 
individual  who  possesses  power — it  may  be  either  the  financial 
ability  to  purchase  a  better  automobile  than  his  neighbor,  the 
power  of  a  pretty  face  to  attach  admirers,  or  the  power  to  throw 
the  whole  world  into  war — feels  a  sense  of  differential  impor¬ 
tance  and  therefore  of  distinction.  Wherever  there  is  power 

24  Social  Psychology,  1908,  p.  30.  Even  this  definition  leaves  much  to 
be  desired,  but  it  would  take  us  beyond  our  present  needs  to  pursue  the 
subject  here. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


55 


of  any  kind  there  are  people  to  look  np  to  it,  envy  it,  aspire  to 
it,  and  seek  to  ally  themselves  to  it.  Prestige  is  thus  based  on 
scales  of  valuation  and  sentiments  centering  about  types  of 
character  and  conduct. 

Every  person  consciously  or  unconsciously  sets  some  sort  of 
valuation  upon  himself.  Every  individual  desires  to  convince 
himself  that  he  is  somebody.  Naturally  and  properly,  no  one 
desires  this  more  than  the  developing  young  man  or  young  wo¬ 
man.  One’s  own  opinion  of  one’s  self  is  not  wholly  satisfying, 
however,  except  with  extraordinarily  egotistical  and  self-confi¬ 
dent  temperaments,  unless  it  has  at  least  some  slight  evidence  of 
corroboration  in  the  opinion  of  others.  Every  individual  there¬ 
fore  desires  recognition.  Even  “cold-blooded”  scientists  some¬ 
times  contend  acrimoniously  for  the  credit  of  priority  in  dis¬ 
covery.  If  recognition  comes  from  reputed  superiors,  it  is  that 
much  more  elevating  to  self-regard.  Recognition  is  your  great 
vanity-tickler.  Generally  speaking,  the  more  self-regard  the 
individual  has  the  more  he  desires  the  recognition  of  superiors. 
This  desire,  manifesting  itself  in  a  thousand  ways,  many  of  them 
concealed  and  unacknowledged  by  the  individual  even  to  him¬ 
self,  gives  the  superior  person  or  class  great  power.  This  fact 
is  one  of  the  sources  of  a  whole  stream  of  psycho-social  processes 
in  the  nature  of  suggestion,  imitation,  emulation,  and  impres¬ 
sion. 

Ross  finds  that  prestige  may  be  due  to  a  variety  of  factors 
or  characteristics — namely,  numbers  (prestige  of  the  crowd 
or  of  the  majority),  age  (prestige  of  the  elders),  prowess 
(prestige  of  the  military  caste,  especially  the  officers),  sanctity 
(prestige  of  the  priestly  class),  “place”  (prestige  of  the  official 
class),  ideas  and  learning  (prestige  of  “highbrows”  and  the 
mandarins),  and  wealth  (prestige  of  the  leisure  class).25  To 
this  list  should  be  added  birth  (prestige  of  family  connection), 
and  sex  (prestige  of  the  male),  and  also  such  agencies  as  tradi¬ 
tion,  ritual,  and  aesthetic  mysticism. 

The  influence  of  prestige  is  not  always  necessarily  toward 
conservatism,  but  it  is  commonly  so.  Prestige  is  so  valuable  an 
asset  that  people  do  not  lightly  jeopardize  it  by  non-conformity. 

25  Social  Control ,  p.  79.  See  also  Lewis  Leopold,  Prestige ,  A  Psycho¬ 
logical  Study  of  Social  Estimates ,  1913,  Bk.  II,  Ch.  5. 


56  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

Moreover  those  who  enjoy  prestige  are  able  in  a  measure  to  set 
the  standards  of  sentiment  and  behavior  to  be  imitated  by  others. 
In  matters  which  are  not  essential  to  the  foundations  of  prestige 
the  models  set  may  be  subject  to  innovation  and  even  kaleido¬ 
scopic  changes  in  fashion,  but  in  matters  which  concern  directly 
the  social  basis  of  the  continuance  of  prestige  those  who  hold 
the  established  positions  will  insist  upon  a  prescriptive  follow¬ 
ing  of  the  old  norms.  This  means  conservatism. 

It  would  take  us  too  far  beyond  present  purposes  to  try  to 
discuss  the  influence  of  all  the  prestige-agencies  in  the  produc¬ 
tion  and  perpetuation  of  the  conservative  attitude.  We  may, 
however,  comment  on  those  of  wealth  and  age.26 

Wealth  is  the  strongest  and  most  pervasive  source  of  pres¬ 
tige.  It  has  been  so  in  all  times  and  climes.  Moreover,  wealth 
is  the  basis  of  prestige  not  only  directly  and  in  its  own  right, 
but  indirectly,  in  many  ramifying  channels.  If  it  is  not  the 
basis,  it  is  at  least  one  of  the  buttresses  of  the  prestige  of  the 
military  caste ;  certain  churches ;  family  position ;  and  much  of 
the  higher  learning.  Its  power  lies  primarily  in  its  influence 
upon  subjective  standards  of  living.  We  ape  the  rich  because 
riches  connote  either  “family”  or,  in  our  American  morality, 
“success.”  It  is  well-recognized  that  wealth  gives  freedom,  as 
well  as  opportunity  for  display  and  scope  for  the  instinct  of 
domination.  The  relation  between  wealth-prestige  and  con¬ 
servatism  is  well  described  by  Veblen: 

“Since  conservatism  is  a  characteristic  of  the  wealthier  and 
therefore  more  reputable  portion  of  the  community,  it  has 
required  a  certain  honorific  or  decorative  value.  .  .  .  Conserv¬ 
atism  being  an  upper  class  characteristic,  is  decorous ;  and  con¬ 
versely,  innovation  being  a  lower  class  phenomenon,  is  vulgar. 

.  .  .  The  fact  that  the  usages,  actions,  and  views  of  the  well- 
to-do  leisure  class  acquire  the  character  of  a  prescriptive  canon 
of  conduct  for  the  rest  of  society,  gives  added  weight  and  reach 
to  the  conservative  influence  of  that  class.  ’  ’ 27 

The  prestige  of  age  is  less  certain  but  is  widespread  and  of 
great  importance  because  of  its  strong  tendency  to  impress 


20  The  conservative  influence  of  wealth  is  treated  more  fully  in  Chap¬ 
ter  V. 

27  Theory  of  the  Leisure  Class,  1890,  pp.  199,  200. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


57 


youth.  Because  of  their  superior  experience  and  acquired  wis¬ 
dom  (real  or  supposed),  the  elders  have  a  preponderant  voice 
in  the  fixing  of  social  controls.  It  is  a  stock  truism  of  popular 
psychology  that  as  a  man  reaches  middle  age  he  grows  more 
and  more  conservative.  Most  men  and  women  undoubtedly  do. 
They  lose  the  rebound  of  youth,  they  become  more  and  more 
the  products  of  long-continued  habit  and  routine,  in  sentiment, 
thought,  and  action;  they  acquired  property  and  other  inter¬ 
ests  dependent  upon  the  continuance  of  the  status  quo;  and  very 
possibly  experience  has  taught  them  to  fear  life  and  to  wish  to 
protect  their  children  from  the  dangers  (healthful  and  develop¬ 
mental  as  some  of  those  dangers  are)  which  attend  one  who  gets 
off  the  beaten  trail. 

Speaking  in  general,  parents  desire  two  things  with  regard 
to  their  children;  they  want  their  companionship,  and  they 
want  them  to  be  “successful.”  But  parental  ambition,  as  the 
biography  of  many  a  famous  man  shows,  is  not  always  intelli¬ 
gent,  or  in  line  with  youth’s  ideas  of  its  own  future.  The  par¬ 
ental  desire  for  success  engenders  the  demand  that  children  shall 
conform  to  the  accepted  conventions,  which  set  the  standard  of 
success.  Parental  ambition  is  thus  an  influence  tending  strongly 
to  the  inculcation  of  the  conservative  attitude.  Moreover,  in 
spite  of  some  twenty  centuries  of  Christian — or  at  least  so-called 
Christian — discipline,  of  overmuch  talk  of  “democracy”  and 
“citizenship,”  the  average  parent  sets  greater  store  by  individ¬ 
ual,  material  success  than  even  the  children  do. 

The  claim  of  the  parent  upon  the  child’s  time  and  compan¬ 
ionship  is  most  striking  in  the  case  of  daughters.  Modern 
movements,  especially  that  complex  of  tendencies  called  the 
woman  movement,  cause  a  rapidly  increasing  number  of  girls 
to  desire  economic  independence  and  freedom  to  captain  their 
own  careers.  But  any  experienced  teacher  of  live  American 
college  girls  knows  that  in  four  cases  out  of  five  the  girl  has  to 
assert  her  right  to  leave  home  to  work,  although  there  is  hardly 
ever  any  objection  to  her  leaving  home  to  marry.  There  are 
some  cases  where  this  parental  obstructive  attitude  cannot  prop¬ 
erly  be  called  selfish;  there  are  some  which  no  other  term  will 
fit.  But  whether  selfish  or  not,  the  parents’  sentiments  are 
ordinarily  those  of  attachment  to  traditional  statuses,  and  their 
influence  is  nearly  always  perpetuative  of  conservative  attitudes. 


58  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

Home  and  school  influence,  and  parental  control,  are  becom¬ 
ing,  however,  less  surely  effective  agencies  for  the  promulgation 
of  conservatism  than  formerly.  The  youth  of  to-day  is  brought 
under  a  multitude  of  influences  to  which  his  (or  her)  parents 
were  not  in  their  youth  subject,  and  enjoys  what  are,  with  all 
their  shortcomings,  incomparably  better  educational  advantages 
than  were  available  for  the  parents.  In  the  field  of  manners 
and  proprieties  the  younger  generation  seems  to  many  of  the 
elders  to  have  taken  matters  into  its  own  hands,  to  the  injury 
not  only  of  manners  but  morals.28 

Age  has  a  proverbial  tendency  to  forget  that  “it  was  young 
once  itself.”  For  this  there  is  sufficient  psycho-physical  cause. 
Middle  age  is  characterized  by  different  intensities  of  instinc¬ 
tive  complexes  than  is  youth ;  its  “motor  sets’’  have  become  more 
static  and  habitual ;  its  character  is  more  stable,  less  dynamically 
impulsive,  less  audacious,  than  that  of  youth.  Its  valuations  of 
what  experience  can  yield  in  the  way  of  pleasure  and  happiness 
are  different,  partly  because  it  knows  more,  partly  because 
experiences  which  are  to  youth  full  of  novelty,  mystery,  and 
perhaps  strange  beauty,  unfortunately  tend  to  become  prosaic 
matter-of-fact,  if  not  unwelcome,  to  age.  It  is  not  surprising, 
therefore,  that  youth  and  age  rarely  understand  each  other. 
Age  is  far  less  idealistic  than  youth,  left  to  itself,  would  be; 
less  hopeful  and  self-reliant,  far  less  convinced  of  its  ability  to 
do  things,  less  willing  to  try  out  new  ways — to  “take  a  chance.” 
In  a  word,  it  is  far  more  distinctly  marked  with  the  character¬ 
istics  of  conservatism  than  is  youth. 

28  In  this  connection  see  a  series  of  entertaining  and  informing  articles 
in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  1920:  A.  N.  Allen,  “Boys  and  Girls,”  June,  pp. 
796-804 ;  K.  F.  Gerould,  “Iteflections  of  a  Grundy  Cousin,”  August,  pp. 
157-163 ;  J.  F.  Carter,  Jr.,  “These  Wild  Young  People,  by  One  of  Them,” 
September,  pp.  301-304 ;  “Good-bye,  Dear  Mr.  Grundy,”  by  a  “Last  Year’s 
Debutante,”  November,  pp.  642-646.  The  literature  of  the  conflict 
between  youth  and  age  is  extensive,  especially  if  fiction  be  included. 
Noteworthy  here  are:  Bernard  Shaw,  Parents  and  Children  (the  Pref¬ 
ace  to  Misalliance)  ;  Samuel  Butler,  The  Way  of  All  Flesh;  Bobert 
Louis  Stevenson,  Virginians  Puerisque;  Edith  Wharton,  The  Age  of 
Innocence.  Beference  should  also  be  made  to  the  “Youth  Movement” 

( Jugendbewegung )  in  Germany.  On  this  remarkable  revolt  of  youth 
against  conservatism,  see  the  article  by  Bruno  Lasker  in  The  Survey , 
Dec.  31,  1921,  pp.  487-493,  537-540.  For  a  thoughtful  article  by  a  parent 
with  conservative  fears  see  also  Mary  Briarly  “The  Man,  the  Woman, 
and  the  University,”  Scribner's  Magazine,  November,  1922,  pp.  591-595. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


59 


All  this  would  be  of  less  significance  to  society,  had  age  not 
acquired  the  intrenched  position  of  a  vested  interest,  from 
wThich  it  proceeds  to  demand  deference  and  obedience  from 
youth,  as  well  as  to  exercise  a  variety  of  differential  privileges 
over  it.29  Tribal  society  is  governed  chiefly  by  the  elders.  Mod¬ 
ern  communities  reserve  their  most  important  offices  to  men 
advanced  in  years.  That  this  prestige  of  the  elders  tends 
strongly  to  perpetuate  conservative  traditions  can  scarcely  be 
open  to  doubt. 

Touching  this  point  in  his  discussion  of  “ossification,”  Ross 
says : 

“Even  the  strong  minds,  the  highly  educated  men,  tend  to 
abide  by  their  earlier  judgments,  and  to  retain  the  emotional 
attitudes  of  their  youth.  If,  then,  the  control  of  affairs  is  in 
the  hands  of  the  old,  the  effete  thing  will  longer  escape  notice 
and  be  longer  tolerated  than  if  young  men  are  at  the  helm. 
If  education  falls  out  of  step  with  life,  if  knowledge  grows 
beyond  the  creeds,  if  laws  fail  to  keep  up  with  the  development 
of  social  relations,  the  unprejudiced  young  will  realize  it  first 
and  will  demand  changes  which  the  old  see  no  reason  for.  ’  ’ 30 

E.  B.  Gowin  finds  that  in  ten  historical  epochs  of  reform  or 
revolution  the  average  age  of  the  dozen  leading  men  in  each 
period  was  from  32  to  46  years,  while  the  average  age  of  their 
chief  opponents  or  of  the  leaders  in  quiet  periods  varied  from 
54  to  66  yearsf1  Ross  further  notes  that  “a  group  of  55  persons 
averaging  less  than  thirty  years  of  age  abolished  the  shogunate 
in  Japan  in  1867  and  turned  the  face  of  Nippon  toward  the 
rising  sun. f  ’ 32  And  who  can  well  doubt  that  if  four  young  men, 
instead  of  four  old  ones,  had  dictated  the  terms  in  Paris  in 
1919,  the  Peace  Conference  would  have  been  far  less  likely  to 
yield  to  the  reactionary  cynicism  of  old-time  secret  diplomacy 
and  to  the  too-familiar  demands  of  nationalistic  greed  and 
hatred  ? 

29  See  Elsie  Clews  Parsons,  Social  Rule,  a  Study  of  the  Will  to  Power, 
1916;  also  Social  Freedom,  a  Study  of  the  Conflicts  Between  Social 
Classifications  and  Personality,  1915,  pp.  9-23;  Leopold,  Prestige,  1913, 
pp.  163-165;  W.  G.  Sumner,  Folkways,  1906,  pp.  321-324. 

30  Principles  of  Sociology,  1920,  p.  502. 

01  Quoted  by  Ross,  op.  cit.,  p.  503,  from  Gowin,  The  Executive  and 
His  Control  of  Men,  1915,  pp.  264-270. 

32  Ross,  p.  507. 


60  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

4.  The  Methods  of  Disinterested  Conservatism 

Were  the  term  ‘‘disinterested’’  to  be  taken  in  other  than  a 
relative  sense,  it  would  follow  that  the  type  of  conservatism  we 
are  now  considering  could  not  be  regarded  as  having  conscious 
methods,  since  total  disinterestedness  would  mean  complete  in¬ 
difference.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  methods  of  disinterested  con¬ 
servatism  are  less  definite,  less  highly  organized,  and  less  con¬ 
sciously  pursued  than  the  methods  of  the  vested  interests,  to  be 
discussed  later. 

These  “disinterested”  methods  are  matters  of  psychological 
process  and  attitude  quite  as  much  as  the  result  of  conscious 
design.  Only  in  part  do  they  rise  to  the  level  of  policy.  They 
may  be  summarized  under  the  following  heads:  inertia  and 
indifference — sitting  tight  and  doing  nothing ;  appealing  to 
tradition  and  “experience”;  reliance  on  the  prestige  of  the 
established  and  the  momentum  of  things-as-they-are ;  avoidance 
of  issues,  minimizing  the  seriousness  of  maladjustments  and 
other  evils,  throwing  the  burden  of  proof  upon  the  progressive 
and  radical;  rationalizing 33  situations  and  keeping  up  a  show 
of  sentimental  optimism;  holding  discussion  to  a  personalistic 
praise-and-blame  basis,  with  a  parading  of  outraged  sentiments 
at  adverse  criticism  or  non-conformity  (taking  it  for  granted 
that  whoever  else  may  be  discommoded,  the  feelings  of  the  con¬ 
servative  must  not  be  hurt)  ;  discussion  on  an  impersonal  plane 
but  within  limitations  beyond  which  discussion  must  not  go, 
and  with  certain  matters  dogmatically  exempted  from  criticism ; 
control  of  educational  institutions  and  processes  (as  by  insist¬ 
ing  on  “safe”  teachers)  in  the  interest  of  conservative  security; 
and  finally  political  action,  coupled  with  definitely  supported 
propaganda  and  “education.” 

An  extended  discussion  of  these  methods  is  needless  at  this 
point  and  would  be  tedious.  Later,  in  our  consideration  of  the 
methods  of  radicalism,34  it  is  found  necessary  to  recur  to  the 
methods  of  disinterested  conservatism,  and  there  the  reader  will 
find  their  significance  in  the  opposition  between  conservatism 
and  radicalism  briefly  analyzed. 

33  In  the  psychoanalytical  sense. 

34  Pages  181-184. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  MOTIVATION  OF  INTERESTED  CONSERVATISM 


1.  General  Motivation  of  Interested  Conservatism 


WE  have  thus  far  sought  to  consider  conservatism  as 
uninfluenced  by  motives  of  selfish  personal  or  class 
interest.  We  have  treated  this  disinterested  conserv¬ 
atism  as  the  product  of  instinctive  fear  and  of  association,  imi¬ 
tation,  adjustment,  and  habit,  and  have  so  far  as  possible  rigidly 
excluded  consideration  of  the  influence  of  special  personal  or 
class  interest. 

We  now  have  the  less  agreeable  task  of  analyzing  the  influ¬ 
ence  of  these  special  interests  in  the  motivation  and  perpetua¬ 
tion  of  what  we  have  called  interested  conservatism. 

The  basis  of  this  type  of  conservatism  is  desire  for  security 
in  possession.  Desire  for  security  in  enjoyment  of  rights  and 
privileges,  and  fear  of  losing  them,  are  the  two  sides  of  the  same 
motive-complex.  This  desire  is  not  ordinarily  consciously  form¬ 
ulated,  but  is  rather  the  whole  complex  “motor  set”  of  our 
organism  in  a  familiar  matter-of-course  environment.  It  be¬ 
comes  conscious  only  when  habitual  functioning  is  impeded  or 
threatened.  At  this  juncture  fear  enters,  and  we  may  conse¬ 
quently  regard  fear  as  the  proximate  actuating  motive  to  the 
interested,  as  it  is  of  the  disinterested,  conservative  attitude. 

Conceiving  himself  as  having  a  special  stake  in  things-as- 
they-are,  the  interested  conservative  looks  upon  that  stake  as 
a  kind  of  vested  right.  Interested  conservatism  is  not  confined, 
however,  to  the  propertied  and  privileged  classes  with  whom 
the  idea  of  vested  interest  is  ordinarily  associated.  Three 
broad  types  can  be  distinguished,  corresponding  roughly  to  as 
many  graduations  in  the  social  scale. 

(1)  Some  classes  which  have  little  or  no  stake  in  things-as- 
they-are  are  nevertheless  conservative  from  selfish  interest. 

61 


62 


CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 


They  exhibit  the  conservatism  of  necessitous  condition.  (2) 
Another  class,  composed  mainly  of  white-collared  salaried  em¬ 
ployees,  has  some  economic  interest  in  things-as-they-are,  but 
is  motivated  mainly  by  imitation  and  emulation  of  the  propertied 
and  directive  classes,  and  is  consequently  characterized  by  what 
may  be  called  emulative  conservatism.  (3)  What  we  shall  des¬ 
ignate  vested-interest  conservatism  is  confined  to  those  “ upper” 
classes  of  individuals  who  stand  possessed  of  property,  power, 
prestige,  and  privilege,  to  which  the  support  of  existing  legal 
principles,  political  habits,  and  social  sentiment  are  the  guar¬ 
antees,  and  which  are  felt  to  be  immediately  jeopardized  by  any 
serious  or  essential  alteration  in  hitherto  accepted  precedents, 
established  habits,  and  conventional  sentiments.  For  an  inter¬ 
est  remains  “vested”  only  so  long  as  the  sanctions  which  uphold 
it  remain  unimpaired. 

For  our  purposes  it  is  sufficient  to  regard  a  vested  interest 
as  a  right  which  is  recognized  and  enforced,  in  favor  of  its 
possessor  and  against  all  others,  by  some  one  or  more  effective 
agencies  of  social  control.  The  chief  and  most  reliable  sanction, 
or  agency,  of  enforcement  of  economic  vested  interest  is  the 
law;  although  lawyers  are  chary  of  defining  the  term  “vested 
right.”  Law,  however,  is  only  the  set  and  hardened  expression 
of  the  real  sanction  which  is  general  sentiment,  or,  under  effec¬ 
tive  republican  forms  of  government,  the  acquiescence  of  the 
majority,  upon  those  matters  which  it  has  been  deemed  neces¬ 
sary  or  expedient  to  reduce  to  formal  rule  and  procedure.  There 
are  other  guarantees  of  vested  interest,  not  inferior  to  formal 
law  in  their  effectiveness — convention,  custom,  public  sentiment ; 
in  a  word,  the  established  habits  of  thought,  sentiment,  and  ac¬ 
tion  to  which  the  mass  of  individuals  have  been  trained  and 
accustomed,  and  which  constitute  the  set  of  patterns  to  which 
education,  both  formal  and  informal,  requires  the  young  to 
conform. 

Where  the  investiture  of  an  interest  has  not  attained  the 
formality  of  law  or  the  prescriptive  inviolability  of  a  hard 
shell  of  custom,  its  continuance  depends  largely  upon  the  ability 
of  its  possessors  to  maintain  prestige.  In  such  cases  the  interest 
has  not  become  “a  complete  and  consummated  right.”  It  lies 
in  the  borderland  of  vested  interests  proper.  And  yet  its  pos- 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


63 


sessors  feel  it  to  be  something  in  the  nature  of  a  property  right, 
something  due  them;  they  fear  and  resent  any  questioning  of 
it,  or  any  encroachment  upon  it,  with  as  great  intensity  as  those 
who  stand  possessed  of  consummated  and  established  property 
rights  resent  intrusion. 

2.  Interested  Conservatism  in  the  Different  Social  Classes 

The  propensity  to  fear  any  alteration  in  the  status  quo  is 
widely  diffused.  It  is  to  be  found  even  in  those  lowest  classes 
who  possess  no  property,  who  enter  into  no  contractual  rela¬ 
tions  which  will  do  them  appreciable  harm  if  they  are  broken, 
and  who  are  devoid  of  elements  of  prestige.  These  classes  can 
hardly  be  said  to  have  vested  interests,  yet  they  not  infrequently 
act  as  if  they  cherished  a  vested  right  to  their  poverty  and 
dependence.1 

Any  insecurity  generates  fear.  In  the  lowest  classes  fear  has 
its  definite  economic  objectives — fear  of  ejection  when  the  rent 
cannot  be  paid,  fear  of  those  who  have  control  over  one’s  live¬ 
lihood  through  the  autocratic  processes  of  hiring  and  firing. 
This  is  the  sort  of  fear  which  governs  all  animals  subject  to  the 
law  of  survival  in  the  struggle  for  existence;  it  necessarily  gen¬ 
erates  conservatism  of  necessitous  condition.  Such  conservatism 
rests  directly  on  the  instinct  of  self-preservation,  which  is 
brought  brutally  to  the  surface  in  the  social  ranks  where  life 
is  summed  up  in  an  unremitting  struggle  for  existence. 

The  extreme  of  the  fear-complexes  which  produce  conserva¬ 
tism  of  necessitous  condition  will  be  found  in  the  most  abjectly 
dependent  classes.  Formerly  it  characterized  the  psychology  of 
the  slave  and  the  serf,  as  it  does  to-day  that  of  the  Mexican  peon. 
In  the  modern  period  it  is  still,  in  spite  of  some  mitigation  of 
the  brutal  struggle  for  existence,  a  prominent  feature  in  the 
psychology  of  the  lower,  unorganized  ranks  of  wage  earners, 
at  least  in  countries  which  have  not  been  deeply  permeated  by 
socialistic  propaganda.  It  has  also  been  characteristic  of  the 
vast  majority  of  women  throughout  history.  It  is  a  well-known 
and  significant  fact  that  the  lower  the  standard  of  living,  the 
more  depressed  in  physical  health,  and  the  more  fatalistically 

*At  the  still  lower  extreme  the  pauper  feels  that  he  has  a  right  to 
public  charity. 


64  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

contented  people  are,  the  harder  it  is  to  secure  their  interest  in 
their  own  betterment  or  to  get  them  to  put  forth  any  effort  or  to 
take  any  risk  to  that  end.  The  lowest  dregs  of  humanity  are 
not  good  material  for  even  the  wildest  radical  to  work  upon. 
The  more  temperate  radical  and  social  reformer  makes  prac¬ 
tically  no  impression  upon  them.2  In  times  of  social  upheaval 
this  lowermost  class,  under  stress  of  sufficient  emotional  stimu¬ 
lation  and  the  chance  to  gather  up  such  unconsidered  trifles  as 
camp  followers  usually  lay  claim  to,  may  turn  “ radical”;  but 
their  radicalism  is  likely  to  be  of  the  same  stamp  as  their  con¬ 
servatism — the  result  and  expression  of  opportunist  character¬ 
istics  molded  in  a  sordid  and  none  too  scrupulous  struggle  for 
survival.  It  is  a  significant  fact  that  not  a  few  members  of 
these  lowest  ranks  do  not  hesitate  to  become  the  hirelings  of 
reactionism. 

It  is  not  to  be  inferred  that  the  great  mass  of  non-propertied, 
unskilled  day  laborers  are  to  be  included  in  this  lowest  estate. 
The  great  mass  of  unskilled  workers  are  propertyless,  dependent, 
comparatively  ignorant,  and  motivated  in  their  day  by  day  con¬ 
duct  by  considerations  of  their  necessitous  condition.  But 
events  of  the  past  few  years  have  shown  pretty  conclusively 
that  their  sense  of  dependence,  and  the  paralyzing  fear  flowing 
from  it,  can  be  overcome  through  organization  and  leadership, 
until  a  sufficiently  strong  sentiment  of  mutual  aid  and  class 
solidarity  may  transform  their  erstwhile  indifferentism  and 
conservatism  into  a  real  and  dynamic  radicalism  of  no  inferior 
social  significance.  Left  to  his  own  unaided  resources,  the  prop¬ 
ertyless  unskilled  worker  is  a  helpless  pawn  on  the  chess  board 
of  corporate  business  and  can  hardly  be  otherwise  than  selfishly 
conservative.  Organized  with  his  fellows  under  competent 
leadership,  his  necessitous  condition,  coupled  with  an  awakened 
consciousness  of  injustices,  real  or  fancied,  leads  to  radicalism, 
often  of  a  revolutionary  type.  This  is  the  psychology  of  the 
migratory  “ working  stiff”  of  the  western  farms,  ranches,  and 
lumber  camps,  to  whom  the  philosophy  of  syndicalism  as 


2  It  was  perhaps  an  intuitive  recognition  of  this  fact  which  caused 
one  employer  of  low  class  labor  to  oppose  abolition  of  the  liquor  traffic 
because  “the  only  way  to  keep  them  where  they  belong  is  to  keep  them 
half  full  all  the  time.” 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  65 

preached  by  I.  W.  W.  agitators  appeals  as  the  only  philosophy 
of  hope.3 

When  we  come  to  the  working  classes  who  have  a  little  prop¬ 
erty,  we  encounter  a  different  psychology.  Unlike  the  ‘ ‘  submerged 
tenth  ’ ’  these  people  have  something  to  lose,  and  a  lively  realiza¬ 
tion  of  the  fact.  Change  in  the  status  quo  may  not  only  throw 
them  into  unemployment  but  may  take  from  them  what  little 
property  they  have.  The  European  peasant,  for  instance,  with 
his  small  holding,  is  notoriously  conservative,  deficient  in  sense 
of  social  responsibility,  and  hard  to  move.  Like  those  far  above 
him  in  economic  status,  he  possesses  a  vested  interest,  however 
small,  and  in  his  case  it  is  proper  to  speak  of  vested-interest  con¬ 
servatism,  albeit  in  a  somewhat  Pickwickian  sense. 

In  the  ranks  represented  by  the  semi-skilled  machine  tenders 
and  the  skilled  workers,  the  forces  tending  toward  conservatism 
diminish.  Most  of  the  members  of  these  classes,  under  modern 
urban  conditions,  do  not  own  their  own  homes  and  are  not  bur¬ 
dened  with  a  great  amount  of  property;  but  they  have,  gener¬ 
ally  speaking,  an  earning  capacity  which  lifts  them  above  the 
more  sordid  struggle  for  existence  onto  a  plane  where  the 
struggle  takes  the  form  of  endeavor  to  maintain  the  standard 
of  living  to  which  they  are  accustomed. 

In  this  there  is  as  yet  no  vested  interest  recognized  by  society, 
but  the  feeling  in  the  worker’s  mind  is  suggestive  of  some  such 
idea.  He  feels  that  in  justice  he  is  entitled  to  such  a  vested 
right ;  but  realizes  that  it  is  his  problem  to  force  or  persuade  a 
reluctant  society  to  recognize  and  guarantee  it.  It  follows  that 
once  tolerably  effective  means  have  been  found  for  protecting 
the  standard  of  living,  they  will  neither  be  lightly  surrendered 
to  the  onslaughts  of  selfish  reactionaries  nor  readily  modified 
or  exchanged  for  the  possibly  more  promising,  but  less  certain, 
plans  of  the  radicals. 

If,  as  has  been  the  case,  the  skilled  workers  have  been  able  to 
raise  their  standard  of  living  through  trade  unions,  and  partly 
through  such  policies  as  restricted  apprenticeship,  limitation 
of  output,  and  the  closed  shop,  they  are  not  likely  soon  to  forego 

3  Much  has  been  written  about  the  western  migratory  worker  and  his 
social  attitudes,  but  no  one  has  written  with  greater  insight  and 
scientific  sympathy  than  did  Carleton  H.  Parker.  See  his  The  Casual 
Laborer  and  Other  Essays ,  1920. 


66  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

I 

the  advantages  derived  from  these  policies.  It  may  he  pointed 
out  by  the  employer  and  by  the  logical  theorist  that  such  prac¬ 
tices  take  a  leaf  out  of  the  book  of  monopoly  and  that  the  closed 
shop,  for  instance,  when  coupled  to  the  “closed  union,”  is  a 
palpable  case  of  restriction  in  favor  of  those  already  on  the  in¬ 
side.  The  employer  and  the  ruling  propertied  class,  on  the 
one  hand,  may  cry  out  that  the  fundamental  right  of  every 
man  to  work  is  being  set  at  nought,  and  the  I.  W.  W.  and  radical 
socialists,  on  the  other,  may  charge  that  the  unions  of  skilled 
workers  are  the  selfish  aristocracy  of  labor,  bent  only  on  advanc¬ 
ing  their  own  interests,  with  no  care  for  the  right  or  advance¬ 
ment  of  unskilled  labor.  These  charges  may  or  may  not  be 
true.  It  is  not  likely  in  any  case  that  the  skilled  trades  will 
soon  recede  from  their  policy  of  protecting  what,  by  practically 
a  century  of  struggle,  they  have  won.  Fear  of  losing  what  they 
already  possess  holds  them  back  from  the  risks  involved  in 
attempting  to  get  more  through  radical  methods. 

The  interested  conservatism  of  the  skilled  workers  is  a  species 
in  the  genus  “guild  self-interest,”  as  Ross  calls  it.4  The  re¬ 
strictive  regulations  of  the  mediaeval  craft  and  merchant  guilds, 
the  social  and  economic  barriers  erected  against  the  entrance  of 
the  common  man  into  the  professions,  the  enactment  of  sumptu¬ 
ary  legislation  to  protect  the  prestige  of  the  spending  classes 
against  the  corroding  imitation  of  the  masses,  the  opposition  of 
men  to  the  entrance  of  women  into  remunerative  pursuits  or 
into  the  ancient  and  honorable  society  of  scholars,  the  tacit  and 
universal  agreement,  alluded  to  in  Adam  Smith’s  famous  pas¬ 
sage,* 6  among  employers  not  to  raise  wages,  and  the  gentlemen’s 
agreements  and  “inside  management”  of  modern  business  men’s 
associations,  are  all  branches  of  the  same  trunk  of  collective  self- 
interest.  It  is  evident  that  this  guild  interest,  with  its  con¬ 
servative  opposition  to  a  larger  public  spirit,  is  not  confined  to 
any  one  class  or  rank.  It  is  a  prominent  aspect  of  skilled  labor¬ 
ing  class  conservatism  largely  because  standardized  wage  scales 
and  working  conditions,  collective  bargaining,  and  a  respectable 
standard  of  living  constitute  the  only  thing  adumbrating  a 
vested  interest  which  this  class  has.  Other  classes  also  are 


4  Principles  of  Sociology,  p.  504. 

6  Wealth  of  Nations,  Book  1,  Ch.  8. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


67 


motivated  by  the  guild  spirit  ;  but  they  have  other  vested  in¬ 
terests,  definitely  formulated  and  recognized  in  law  and  custom. 

When  we  come  to  the  propertied  and  active  business  classes 
we  enter  social  ranks  with  which  it  is  somewhat  more  customary 
to  associate  the  thought  of  vested  rights,  if  not  of  special  priv¬ 
ilege.  Speaking  in  the  by  and  large,  the  interests,  sentiments, 
beliefs,  and  habits  of  these  classes  constitute  the  foundation  of 
the  greater  and  most  effective  part  of  interested  conservatism. 
.This  is  not  saying  that  effective  progressivism  and  even  radicalism 
do  not  receive  important  support  from  certain  elements  in  these 
ranks ;  the  great  mass  of  progressives  and  radicals,  however,  is 
to  be  looked  for  in  the  working  classes,  in  spite  of  the  individual 
worker ’s  immediate  motives  to  the  conservative  attitude.  In  the 
main,  the  classes  possessed  of  vested  property  interests  and 
special  privileges  associated  with  prestige  based  on  inheritance, 
on  social  position,  and  on  contractual  and  prescriptive  advantage 
of  one  sort  or  another,  are  openly,  consistently,  and  aggressively 
conservative — conservative  because  of  desire  to  protect,  retain, 
and  augment  these  interests  and  advantages. 

Vested  interest  conservatism,  in  these  classes,  as  in  the  classes 
hitherto  discussed,  while  not  by  any  means  entirely  of  an  eco¬ 
nomic  hue,  is  largely  so. 

Confining  our  attention,  at  present,  to  the  influence  of  eco¬ 
nomic  interest,  we  may  for  convenience  divide  these  well-to-do 
conservatives  into  two  main  classes,  (1)  the  rentiers  or  receiv¬ 
ers  of  funded  income  from  property  and  investments  of  various 
kinds,  and  (2)  the  active  business  men,  professional  men,  farm¬ 
ers  (in  large  part),  and  the  great  majority  of  the  “white-col¬ 
lared”  employees  of  active  business. 

The  rentiers  include  those  who  are  not  engaged  actively  in 
any  productive  pursuit,  who  live  off  the  receipts  of  real  estate 
rentals,  interest  on  bonds  and  mortgages,  and  stock  dividends, 
royalties  of  mines,  etc.  In  the  second,  or  active,  class  are  to 
be  included :  active  business  men,  from  the  ultra-wealthy  and 
powerful  captain  of  industry  and  financial  magnates  to  the  or¬ 
dinary  small  town  merchant  or  real  estate  dealer  ;  bankers,  big 
and  little;  railroad  executives  of  all  the  higher  grades;  the 
owners  of  newspapers  and  magazines  (excepting  the  labor  press, 
but  not  excepting  the  small  town  or  country  newspaper),  etc. 


68  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

Probably  the  vast  majority  of  American  farmers  must  usually 
be  classed  here  also,  although  one  must  have  in  mind  such  move¬ 
ments  as  the  Granger  Movement  of  the  70 ’s,  Populism  in  the 
90 ’s,  the  farmers’  adherence  to  greenbackism  and  free  silver, 
and  of  late  such  manifestations  of  radicalism  as  the  Non-Par¬ 
tisan  League.6 

To  the  active  class  also  belong  two  other  groups:  the  profes¬ 
sional  men — especially  lawyers,  physicians,  clergymen,  and 
teachers,  to  whom  may  be  added  most  government  employees  of 
whatever  rank — and  finally,  the  great  mass  of  clerical,  office, 
and  executive  employees,  whom  we  may  call  the  white-collared 
class. 

The  motivation  of  the  conservatism  of  the  rentier  class  is 
clear.  Their  opposition  to  reform  is  due  to  conscious  self-interest. 
Change  is  resented  and  opposed  because  of  the  fear  that  it  will 
result  in  a  reduction  of  rents,  interest  rates,  and  dividends. 
Social  and  political  movements  are  judged  primarily  by  their 
effect  on  the  stock  market  or  real  estate  values.  Conceptions  of 
public  interest  are  not  broadly  developed;  public  interest  is 
usually  interpreted  to  mean  the  interest  of  the  propertied  and 
employing  classes^ — especially  the  rentiers  themselves.  Any  pro¬ 
posal  for  social  betterment  requiring  increased  taxation,  or  any 
legislative  or  administrative  change  not  on  its  face  promising 
advantage  to  the  funded  income  receivers,  is  examined  first 
of  all  with  reference  to  its  financial  bearing.  Any  change, 
however  demonstrably  it  may  be  to  the  public  interest,  is  re¬ 
garded  as  an  invasion  of  established  rights  if  it  adversely  affects 
the  financial  interests  in  question. 

This  rentier  conservatism  is  widespread  and  of  insidious  in¬ 
fluence.  We  can  hardly  expect  a  person  whose  main  income  is 
derived  from  land  values  to  give  open  minded  consideration  to 
proposals  for  progressive  land  taxation,  or  one  who  expects  to 

6  The  American  farmer,  owning  his  own  farm,  has  always  been  recal¬ 
citrant  to  social  classification.  Usually  temperamentally  conservative 
he  may,  when  sufficiently  aroused,  become  markedly  radical,  but  his 
radicalism  rarely  takes  the  direction  of  co-operation  with  that  of  the 
industrial  workers.  On  this  point  see  E.  G.  Nourse,  “Harmonizing  the 
Interests  of  the  Farm  Producer  and  the  Town  Consumer,”  Journal  of 
Political  Economy,  October,  1920,  pp.  626-657.  For  an  acute  inquiry 
into  the  reality  of  the  farmer’s  vested  interest,  see  Veblen,  The  Vested 
Interests ,  1919,  pp.  165-174.  See  also,  below,  pp.  135,  187, 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  69 

come  into  a  large  inheritance  to  look  with  favor  upon  increased 
inheritance  taxes. 

The  conservatism  of  active  business  men,  like  that  of  all  other 
conservatives,  is  motivated  by  fear  and  desire  for  security.  But 
the  operation  of  these  motives  is  slightly  different  in  different 
ranks  of  the  business  classes.  The  small  business  man  is  ordi¬ 
narily  very  dependent — dependent  on  the  good  will  of  his  cus¬ 
tomers,  and  hence  afraid  to  take  an  unpopular  stand  on  any 
public  question;  dependent  on  his  creditors,  especially  on  the 
banks,  which  have  power  to  refuse  him  much  needed  loans ;  and 
dependent  upon  the  good  will  of  his  business  associates.  He 
must  not  too  far  transgress  the  business  standards  and  ethics 
of  the  community  (for  instance  with  regard  to  price  competi¬ 
tion),  he  must  not  offend  any  large  group  of  people,  he  must  be, 
if  not  without  pronounced  convictions,  at  least  very  tactful  and 
circumspect  in  their  expression.  He  thus  comes  to  shun  any¬ 
thing  very  far  removed  from  the  commonplace. 

Indeed,  it  is  possible  that  his  sense  of  dependence  is  exag¬ 
gerated  and  that  he  is  a  more  abject  victim  of  fear  than  he 
need  be.  More  especially  in  the  smaller  towns  and  cities,  is  he 
careful  to  conform  to  the  accepted  standards  of  respectability. 
Moving  in  a  small  circle  of  associates,  meeting  the  same  sort 
of  routine  problems  daily,  dictating  the  same  letters  with  the 
same  vocabulary,  and  not  accustomed  to  broad  vision  ahead,  he 
usually  is  the  victim  of  incapacity  and  habitual  disinclination 
to  face  new  conditions  or  to  meet  new  problems.  This  is  one 
reason  why  he  fears  change.  The  more  essential  reason,  how¬ 
ever,  is  that,  like  the  rentier ,  he  dreads  the  financial  loss  which 
might  result  from  a  social  or  economic  reform  involving  him 
in  conditions  on  which  he  has  not  calculated.  Moreover,  his 
economic  philosophy  is  of  the  old  American  self-made-man  type. 
The  older  he  is,  the  more  his  experience  has  been  derived  from 
the  earlier,  quasi-frontier  business  life  of  a  new  country,  the 
less  able  he  is  to  understand  the  need  of  new  standards,  of  co¬ 
operation  to  social  ends,  and  of  more  effective  social  control  of 
business  and  industry/ 

7  On  the  business  man’s  control  of  the  average  American  town,  see 
Veblen,  Imperial  Germany  and  the  Industrial  Revolution ,  1918,  pp. 
315-322. 


70  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

“Big  business ”  may  be  either  conservative  or  radical,  as  its 
special  interests  dictate.  Big  business  itself  is  the  result  of 
daring,  and  frequently  unscrupulously  radical,  changes  in  busi¬ 
ness  methods  and  industrial  organization.  These  changes  have 
involved  great  costs,  not  only  to  business  men  themselves,  es¬ 
pecially  those  unsuccessful  in  the  competitive  struggle  and 
“squeezed  out”  in  an  era  of  combination  and  monopoly,  but  to 
the  working  classes,  through  unemployment  and  other  malad¬ 
justments  attendant  on  rapid  change,  and  to  the  general  public, 
in  the  upbuilding  of  huge  vested  interests  and  irresponsible 
power  which  at  times  have  been  practically  uncontrolable. 

Once  established,  big  business  is  conservative,  but  its  con¬ 
servatism  is  far  more  intelligent  (judged  from  the  point  of 
view  of  special  interest)  and  far  more  aggressive  than  that  of 
the  common  run  of  business  men.  As  its  vested  interests  are 
huge,  and  its  privileges  valuable  and  peculiarly  liable  to  attack, 
it  organizes  economic  and  political  conservatism  into  a  system 
and  a  creed. 

But  for  the  fact  that  both  conservatism  and  radicalism  are 
the  products  of  association  and  temperament  as  well  as  of 
special  interest,  and  that  an  individual  or  class  conservative  in 
one  matter  is  likely  to  be  conservative  all  the  way  through, 
many  business  men  would  be  radicals,  as  many  actually  are 
progressives,  in  matters  which  have  no  material  bearing  upon 
their  financial  interests. 

"Wherever  these  self-  or  class-interests  are  threatened,  how¬ 
ever,  fear,  habit,  and  training  all  conspire  to  present  a  solid 
front  of  conservatism.  In  periods  of  actual  social  and  eco¬ 
nomic  unrest,  aggressive  radical  criticism  and  attack  produce 
accentuated  self-interest  reaction.  Radicalism  to-day  expresses 
itself  in  three  main  ways,  (1)  in  the  labor  movement  (including 
socialism,  etc.),  (2)  in  the  movement  for  internationalism,  in¬ 
volving  disarmament,  and  (3)  in  the  general  trend  and  urge 
toward  a  real  and  effective  democracy.  These  movements  and 
tendencies  mean  that  the  great  working  masses,  taken  as  a  whole, 
are  pushing,  with  organized  weight  and  intelligence,  against 
the  social  institutions,  the  economic  organization,  and  the  stand¬ 
ards  of  distribution  of  wealth,  income,  and  political  power 
which  the  ruling  propertied  and  big  business  classes  have  come 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


71 


to  regard  as  fixed,  just,  and  sacred.  When  revolutionary  radi¬ 
calism  makes  the  disastrous  and  successful  attacks  it  has  made 
during  the  past  few  years  on  the  very  foundations  of  the  busi¬ 
ness  order  and  the  business  man’s  control,  it  follows  that  the 
conservatism  of  the  business  and  propertied  classes  will  be 
heightened  and  that  it  will  develop  an  aggressive  defense  of 
these  foundations.  When  the  issue  is  one,  or  is  described  as  one, 
between  the  vested  privileges  of  capitalism  on  the  one  hand  and 
the  demands  of  the  workers  for  democratic  control  and  the  abo¬ 
lition  of  special  privilege  on  the  other,  conservatism  and  radi¬ 
calism  are  not  only  attitudes,  but  come  to  be  regarded  respec¬ 
tively  as  duties  to  one’s  class  in  the  class  struggle.  In  this  con¬ 
flict  of  interests — whether  we  call  it  class  conflict  or  not — in 
which  the  working  masses  are  making  demands  unheard  of 
hitherto  in  the  world’s  history,  or  unheeded  as  merely  vision¬ 
ary  and  academic,  it  is  not  surprising  that  the  propertied  and 
business  classes  should  labor  under  a  rebellious  sense  that  jus¬ 
tice  and  the  fitness  of  things  have  been  outraged. 

For  from  the  beginnings  of  history  the  privileged  and  fortu¬ 
nate  or  energetic  and  more  intelligent  few  have  resisted  the 
struggle  of  the  masses  for  freedom  and  higher  standards  of  liv¬ 
ing.  The  masses  have  been  in  the  position  of  servants  to  the 
classes,  and  the  employing  class,  with  property,  power,  and  pres¬ 
tige,  early  developed  a  master-class  conception  of  the  proprieties 
of  social  and  economic  relations  which  it  has  never  entirely  lost, 
and  which  indeed  underwent  considerable  development  with  the 
transition  from  the  old  hand  and  domestic  system  to  the  modern 
factory  system  and  big  business. 

That  the  business  man’s  reaction  to  economic  and  social  radi¬ 
calism  in  almost  any  of  its  forms  and  degrees,  is  usually  so  bitter 
and  so  extreme  may  be  explained  partly  on  the  ground  that  he 
has  developed  something  of  an  ubermensch  psychological  com¬ 
plex,  and  that  one  of  the  foundations  of  his  belief  in  order — his 
unconscious  adherence  to  the  master-and-servant  type  of  ethics 
—has  been  endangered  by  the  constant  pressure  of  liberal  pro- 
gressivism  and  aggressive  radicalism.  In  other  words,  beside 
the  main  fact  that  the  danger  of  revolutionary  economic  radical¬ 
ism  has  filled  the  propertied  employing  classes  with  a  very 
real  and  lively  fear  for  the  safety  of  the  whole  system  of 


72  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

hitherto  recognized  and  accepted  conventions  upon  which  their 
vested  interests  and  privileges  are  based,  there  is  the  additional 
significant  fact  that  the  superiority  complex  which  can  be  found 
in  every  typical  member  of  the  upper  and  middle  classes — 
his  pride  of  position  and  association,  and  in  freedom  from 
rough-handed  work — has  been  outraged  by  the  attitude  and 
demands  of  labor.  It  is  mainly  endangered  material  interests 
which  have  developed  the  class  struggle,  but  this  pride  of  mas¬ 
tership,  hitherto  the  possession  of  the  ruling  classes  only,  now 
gives  rise  to  more  subtle  and  less  consciously  expressed  or  for¬ 
mulated  fear  and  disgust,  which  are  not  without  profound  in¬ 
fluence  in  the  causation  of  conservative  and  reactionary 
attitudes. 

Pride  of  position  is  contagious,  and  is  the  chief  ground  for  class 
distinction  between  the  skilled  manual  workers  and  the  white- 
collared  workers.  In  intelligence,  breadth  of  information,  and 
moral  character,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  the  general  run  of 
white-collared  workers  behind  shop  counters  and  in  business 
offices  are  much,  if  at  all,  superior  to  the  skilled  and  semi¬ 
skilled  manual  workers,  upon  whom  they  look  down,  and  with 
whom  they  refuse  to  associate.  Excluding  the  upper  ranks  of 
office  help,  buyers  and  department  superintendents  in  stores,  and 
the  like,  it  is  doubtful  if  the  white-collared  positions  yield  a 
larger  income  than  do  the  manual  jobs,  though  they  perhaps 
afford  greater  continuity  and  security  of  employment.  But  the 
office  workers  are  nearer  the  executives;  they  live  in  the  same 
atmosphere  of  “business,”  they  are  actuated  by  and  are  ex¬ 
pected  to  cultivate  the  same  acquisitive  spirit,  and  by  a  praise¬ 
worthy  desire  to  rise  to  positions  of  responsibility  and  trust. 
They  know  that  advancement  is  conditioned  not  only  by  ability 
but  by  unquestioning  loyalty  to  the  employer  and  to  his  projects 
and  methods.  When  they  think  of  the  firm  or  the  company  they 
pretend  to  think  “we”;  they  regard  themselves  as  a  part  of  it; 
whereas  the  manual  workers  in  the  shops  or  yards  are  much  less 
likely  to  have  this  feeling,  and  are  regarded  by  the  office  and 
sales  force  not  as  a  part  of  the  concern,  but  as  “employees” 
or  “hands.”  Office  employees  and  sales  people  have  little  of 
the  independent  feeling  of  class  cohesion  or  solidarity  which 
tends  to  develop  in  the  manual  working  classes.  The  white- 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


73 


collared  employees  do  not  in  their  own  minds  constitute  a  dis¬ 
tinct  class  with  special  interests  of  its  own.  Nowhere  are  they 
organized.  They  regard  themselves,  if  not  as  members  of  the 
capitalist-employing  class,  at  least  as  closely  allied  to  it.  They 
are  led  to  this  attitude  both  by  the  subtle  motives  which  under¬ 
lie  most  emulation,  and  by  material  self-interest. 

For  these  reasons,  most  men  in  white-collared  positions  hold 
the  attitudes  and  look  at  things  from  the  viewpoint  of  the  prop¬ 
ertied,  employing  class,  and  are  consequently  conservative. 
Their  conservatism  is  at  once  that  of  ignorance,  of  dependence, 
of  material  self-interest,  and  of  a  sort  of  vicarious  snobbishness. 

The  conservatism  of  the  professional  classes,  the  last  of  the 
vested-interest  groups  to  be  considered,  is  due  to  special  inter¬ 
est,  to  temperament,  and  to  the  influence  of  occupational  spe¬ 
cialization  and  environment.  It  would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose 
that  all  professional  men  and  women  tend  strongly  to  conserva¬ 
tism,  or  that  when  they  do,  all  their  conservatism  is  attributable 
to  motives  of  vested  interest.  Yet  such  interests  are  present 
and  are  doubtless  influential. 

Lawyers  as  a  class  are  notoriously  conservative,  if  not  re¬ 
actionary.  Their  life  and  work  is  wrapped  up  in  the  institu¬ 
tions  of  property  and  contract,  in  the  settlement  of  disputes  by 
appeal  to  precedent,  and  in  technical  knowledge  of  the  extreme 
and  to  a  certain  extent  unnecessary  intricacies  of  legal  proce¬ 
dure.  The  legal  profession  has  certainly  not  been  vigorous  in 
pushing  forward  the  reform  of  legal  procedure  and  the  codifi¬ 
cation  of  law,  in  spite  of  some  talk  in  the  American  Bar  Associa¬ 
tion  and  the  crying  need,  admitted  among  thoughtful  lawyers, 
of  such  reform.  It  has  been  charged  that  these  reforms  have 
made  no  headway  because  the  lawyers  fear  that  simplification 
and  codification  would  reduce  litigation,  but  the  main  cause  of 
the  inaction  is  probably  to  be  found  in  mere  habituation,  special¬ 
ization,  and  engrossment  in  the  business  affairs  of  the  moment. 

In  economic  interest  and  affiliation  lawyers  are  obviously  most 
closely  associated  with  the  propertied  rentiers  and  active  busi¬ 
ness  classes.  Legal  work  for  corporations  is  the  chief  source  of 
the  large  fees  of  the  best  lawyers.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that 
the  average  corporation  lawyer  will  be  other  than  conserva¬ 
tive,  or  that  he  will  usually  have  a  point  of  view  which  will  put 


74  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

public  welfare  above  the  pecuniary  interests  of  his  corporate 
employer  and  himself. 

In  professional  callings  other  than  the  law,  conservatism  is 
perhaps  not  so  characteristic.  Still  there  are  not  lacking  special 
material  interests  productive  of  the  conservative  attitude.  The 
rank  and  file  of  the  medical  profession  have  not  been  overly 
zealous  in  advocacy  of  efficient  public  health  departments,  nor, 
in  the  non-urban  districts,  have  they  been  active  for  the  estab¬ 
lishment  of  community  clinics  and  other  means  by  which  com¬ 
petent  medical  and  surgical  aid  can  be  afforded  to  the  poor  as 
well  as  to  the  well-to-do.  On  the  other  hand,  physicians,  unlike 
the  lawyers,  have  always  provided  a  large  amount  of  free  serv¬ 
ice  ;  and  medicine,  both  in  its  scientific  aspects  and  as  a  social 
art  devoted  to  social  ends,  has  advanced  much  more  rapidly  than 
the  law. 

Conflicting  special  interests  hold  back  progress  in  both  fields. 
The  business  men  who  “run”  the  average  American  town  are 
very  likely  to  oppose  any  expose  of  conditions  calling  for  more 
effective  public  health  administration,  involving  closer  inspec¬ 
tion  of  markets,  restaurants,  dairies,  etc.  Druggists  are  com¬ 
monly  found  to  be  hostile  toward  any  movement  for  limiting  the 
manufacture  and  sale  of  fake  patent  medicines.  In  so  far  as 
the  business-ethics  ideals  of  caveat  emptor  and  charging  what 
the  traffic  will  bear,  and  the  convenient  fiction  that  public  in¬ 
terest  is  sufficiently  served  by  a  balance  of  power  between  private 
interests  each  looking  out  primarily  for  itself,  continue  to  be 
permitted  a  strong  influence  in  law  and  medicine  and  pharmacy, 
no  large  progressive  social  spirit  is  to  be  looked  for  in  the  rank 
and  file  of  the  members  of  these  professions. 

The  teaching  and  clerical  professions  are  probably  no  better 
and  no  worse.  In  spite  of  high-sounding  addresses  before  the 
National  Educational  Association,  state  teachers’  meetings,  and 
county  institutes,  it  is  common  knowledge  that  public  school 
administration  is  too  frequently  carried  on  in  an  atmosphere 
of  political  wire-pulling,  favor-currying,  and  personal  interests, 
more  suggestive  of  petty  ward  politics  than  of  a  whole-hearted 
and  honest  devotion  to  the  effective  education  of  the  nation’s 
children.  This  is  due  partly  to  the  personnel  and  spirit  of 
school  boards  and  partly  to  the  competitive  ambitions  and  ego- 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


75 


tisms  of  school  superintendents  and  principals.  It  is  due  also 
to  the  well-known  fact  that  salaries  in  the  teaching  profession 
are  so  low  in  proportion  to  the  cost  of  living  that  comparatively 
few  men  of  high  calibre  remain  in  public  school  work  and  that 
those  who  remain  are  often  forced  into  conservative,  time-serv¬ 
ing  attitudes  by  the  struggle  for  existence.  It  is  further  due 
to  the  fact  that  four-fifths  of  American  public  school  teachers 
are  women,  usually  overworked,  existing  on  salaries  that  have 
been  a  disgrace  to  the  nation,  and  in  such  financially  necessitous 
status  that  they  perforce  accept  whatever  conditions  school 
boards  and  superintendents  see  fit  to  impose.  It  has  long  been 
charged,  furthermore,  that  public  school  administration  is  so 
undemocratic  in  character  that  initiative  and  progressiveness 
in  the  rank  and  file  are  discouraged.8 

Clergymen  stand  in  much  the  same  position  as  lawyers,  in 
that  their  training  has  been  based  largely  on  the  conservative 
foundation  of  precedent  and  authority,  and  in  the  same  position 
as  teachers  because  they  are  even  nearer  the  poverty  line  and 
under  the  necessity,  if  they  are  to  keep  their  jobs,  not  to  offend 
the  conventional  attitudes  or  the  special  economic  interests  of 
their  congregations. 

The  professor  in  a  denominational  college  is  in  a  scarcely 
more  favorable  situation.  If  he  be  intellectually  original  and  if 
he  tell  his  honest  thought  to  his  students  he  is  liable  to  be 
charged  with  heresy  by  some  ultra-conservative  church  official. 

The  preacher  and  the  professor,  both  in  privately  endowed 
colleges  and  in  universities  supported  from  public  funds,  are 
liable  to  find  their  ideas  in  conflict  with  the  economic  special 
interests;  and  themselves  subject  to  attack,  if  they  tell  what 
they  know  or  say  what  they  think.  The  result  both  in  church 
and  university  is  that  to  a  certain  extent,  which  of  course  dif¬ 
fers  with  time,  place,  and  circumstances,  freedom  of  speech  and 
of  thought  are  limited  by  the  intimidative  power  of  special 
interests,  here  ecclesiastical,  there  economic.  These  interests 
attempt  to  take  advantage  not  only  of  their  preponderant  in¬ 
fluence  upon  governing  boards  but  of  the  conservative  and  con¬ 
ventional  sentiment  of  a  public  which  is  not  sufficiently  tutored 

•  See  what  is  said  below,  pp.  87,  88,  on  economic  intimidation  in  the 
teaching  profession. 


76  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

and  sophisticated  to  understand  the  issues  involved,  a  public 
not  sensible  enough  of  its  own  interests  to  know  the  great 
danger  to  liberty  and  progress  involved  in  restriction,  or  cen¬ 
sorship,  of  thought,  speech,  and  publication.9 

3.  Some  Psychological  and  Social  Characteristics  of  Interested 

Conservatism 

Wherever  there  is  conflict  or  lack  of  agreement  between  a 
person’s  subjective  moral  ideals  and  his  actual  conduct,  or  be¬ 
tween  his  actual  and  his  expressed  thought,  a  situation  exists 
which  cannot  be  said  to  be  characterized  by  complete  honesty. 
There  are,  indeed,  few  human  situations  or  relations  in  which 
complete  honesty  and  fearless  frankness  are  possible.  It  would 
be  too  harsh  to  say  that  this  lack  of  correspondence  between  ideal 
and  action,  or  between  thought  and  expression,  is  commonly 
the  result  of  conscious,  designed  hypocrisy.  In  many  cases,  the 
individual  frankly  recognizes  the  conflict  and  admits,  to  him¬ 
self  at  least,  that  not  being  a  hero  or  martyr,  he  will,  when 
confronted  with  the  practical  necessity  of  compromise,  choose 
the  line  of  action  which  best  subserves  his  immediate  interests. 
In  other  cases,  perhaps  most,  to  save  his  self-respect,  he  resorts 
to  self-deceit,  which  he  accomplishes  through  casuistry.  In 
other  words,  he  devises  specious  arguments — excuses  and  justi¬ 
fications  for  doing  things  which  he  knows  are  contrary  to  public 
welfare  and  to  his  own  moral  principles,  but  the  doing  of  which 
protects  his  material  and  domestic  interests.  “  Wives  and  chil¬ 
dren,”  says  a  recent  writer,  “are  both  rewards  and  hostages. 
Every  householder  thinks  more  radically  than  he  acts,  because 
he  is  fearful  of  losing  what  he  has  gained  under  the  established 
rules.  ’  ’ 10  He  is  conservative  from  personal  interest,  but  the 
conservatism  goes  against  the  grain. 

A  survey  of  the  different  classes  would  reveal  least  of  this 
casuistic  conservatism  among  the  workers,  and  most  among  the 
white-collared  commercial  workers  and  professional  men,  es¬ 
pecially  teachers  and  preachers.  It  is  at  a  minimum  in  the 

9  Restrictions  on  thought  can,  of  course,  be  indirect  only,  through 
limitation  of  speech  and  publication,  but  they  are  none  the  less  effective 
for  that  reason. 

10  Maxwell  Anderson,  “Modern  Casuists,”  The  Freeman,  August  25, 
1920,  p.  565. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


77 


lower  ranks  of  the  laboring  population  because  they  either 
frankly  accept  the  philosophy  of  “  looking  out  for  num¬ 
ber  one”  or,  turning  radical,  regard  dissimulation  as  one 
of  the  weapons  in  the  class  struggle.  It  is  also  at  a  minimum 
among  the  higher  propertied  and  employing  classes,  because  in 
these  classes  one  has,  relatively,  power  and  freedom  to  do  as 
one  pleases. 

Nowhere,  however,  is  there  absolute  freedom  from  external 
pressure.  Expediency — sometimes,  indeed,  exigencies  of  life 
and  death — require  a  certain  degree  of  conformity.  “When  one 
is  among  wolves  one  must  growl  a  little.”  A  known  capitalistic 
or  royalist  reactionary  gets  short  shrift  amongst  bolshevists  in 
revolution.  An  “infidel”  did  not  fare  well  at  the  hands  of  the 
Inquisition.  Even  Roger  Williams  was  persona  non  grata  to 
the  Massachusetts  Puritans;  and  the  life  of  a  labor  organizer 
is  in  some  jeopardy  in  West  Virginia  today.  But  the  real  rebels, 
dying  bravely  on  Lexington  Green,  or  calmly  and  alone  suffer¬ 
ing  ecclesiastical  persecution,  or  holding  aloft  before  White 
House  gates  in  the  presence  of  hostile  crowds  the  banner  “How 
long  must  women  wait  for  liberty !  ”  or  slowly  starving  to  death 
in  prison  for  the  cause  of  Irish  freedom — are  few.  After  all, 
most  people,  when  not  affected  by  the  hypnotic  hysteria  of 
crowd  contagion,  or  under  iron  discipline,  prefer  to  save  their 
skins.  And  they  are  the  more  impelled  to  such  expedient  con¬ 
duct  by  certain  unavoidable  conflicts  of  obligation. 

There  are  but  two  classes  who  might  consciously  be  wholly 
honest  and  frank,  with  themselves  and  with  others,  in  thought, 
feeling,  and  action — those  who  desire  nothing,  and  those  who 
have  everything  they  desire,  or  who  are  independent,  at  least 
economically,  because  of  ownership  of  great  wealth. 

Few,  however,  are  in  fact  even  economically  independent. 
The  wealthiest  family  may  be  at  the  mercy  of  its  servants;  the 
bond-holder  is  ultimately  dependent  upon  the  employees  of  the 
corporation  or  upon  the  voters  of  the  country  whose  bonds  he 
holds;  and  no  business  man,  amid  the  complex  organization  of 
modern  industry  and  finance,  can  for  a  moment  be  independ¬ 
ent  of  the  business  system  and  all  that  it  may  entail  for 
his  success  or  failure.  Accordingly,  we  must  expect  to  observe, 
even  in  the  upper  economic  ranks,  a  certain  compromise  of  de- 


78  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

sire  and  conduct,  a  casuistry  of  expediency,  a  tendency  to  adap¬ 
tation  to  conditions  which  one  might  wish  to  ignore. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  all  such  tendencies  are  entirely 
to  be  regretted  or  condemned.  On  the  contrary,  were  there  no 
such  characteristics  of  conduct,  social  life  and  co-operation 
v;ould  be  impossible.  The  fact  of  expedient  adaptation,  the 
habits  of  tact,  reserve,  moderation  in  speech  and  action,  con¬ 
siderateness,  and  “good  breeding ”  are  but  the  component  parts 
of  that  discipline  which  makes  human  association  possible ;  and 
they  may  be  at  times  far  removed,  in  their  motivation,  from 
narrow  selfishness. 

Pursuit  of  such  considerations,  however,  would  take  us  off 
the  main  line  of  our  present  inquiry.  The  consideration  in 
point  here  is  that  the  well-to-do,  propertied,  and  employing 
classes  are  under  no  such  necessity  of  conflict  between  inner 
conviction  and  external  conduct  as  are  the  other  ranks  of 
society. 

It  cannot  well  be  doubted,  however,  that  there  are  many 
members  of  the  vested  interest  classes  who  by  temperament  and 
character  are  broadly  social-minded  and  who  in  a  different  class 
environment,  would  be  liberal,  progressive,  or  radical.  This  is 
especially  true  among  the  younger  members  of  such  classes. 
Not  a  few  of  these  younger  men  and  women  do,  in  fact,  in  spite 
of  all  the  strong  environmental  stimuli  to  the  contrary,  become 
more  or  less  permanently  influenced  by  modern  liberalisms  and 
radicalisms.  A  still  larger  number,  without  taking  on  any  of 
the  specific  doctrines  of  radicalism,  get  in  one  way  and  another 
a  larger,  more  effective,  and  less  sentimental  conception  of 
public  interest  and  public  service  than  the  general  run  of  their 
contemporary  elders  have  had.  But  there  is  always  a  strong 
tendency  to  slip  back  into  the  habits  and  thought  and  point  of 
view  of  class-interest  conservatism.  Everywhere,  among  friends 
and  acquaintances,  the  young  man  is  thrown  into  the  atmos¬ 
phere  of  “business”  and  of  self-interest.  If,  then,  his  inner 
or  temperamental  tendency  toward  progressivism  or  radicalism 
is  not  very  strong,  it  will  be  overborne  by  the  whole  attitude  of 
those  with  whom  he  associates,  through  sheer  unconscious  imi¬ 
tation  if  in  no  other  way,  and  his  own  material  self-interest  will 
gradually  get  the  better  of  his  more  social-minded  self.  This 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


79 


is  what  happens  in  greater  or  less  degree  to  nine  out  of  ten 
college  men  and  women  who  may  at  some  time  in  their  educa¬ 
tional  course  catch  glimpses  of  less  materialistically  selfish 
planes  of  thought  and  feeling,  but  whom  the  business  of  getting 
a  living,  combined  with  social  emulation — keeping  up  with  the 
Joneses — sooner  or  later  pulls  back  to  the  plane  of  narrow  self- 
interest  and  interested  conservatism. 

In  these  younger  men  and  women  the  ethical  conflict  may  be 
very  real,  either  in  economic  matters,  or  as  was  formerly  more 
common,  in  matters  of  religious  belief.  To  the  extent  that  the 
individual  is  drawn  back  into  the  interested  sentiment  of  his 
class,  the  ethical  conflict  will  be  solved  by  a  sublimation  of 
temperamental  radical  tendencies  through  work,  through  a  dilet¬ 
tante  pursuit  or  art  and  literature,  or  through  the  soothing  sat¬ 
isfaction  of  philanthropy  and  honorific  public  service.  Com¬ 
pensation  for  temperamental  repressions  will  be  found  in  the 
satisfaction  of  special  interests  and  privileges  well  guarded  by 
conservative  sentiments.  There  are  of  course  some  tempera¬ 
ments  in  which  such  compensation  never  takes  place.  They  be¬ 
come  the  leaven  of  their  class. 

Somewhat  allied  to  the  casuistry  of  certain  types  of  inter¬ 
ested  conservatives,  but  of  far  more  fundamental  significance,  is 
what  we  may  call  the  sense  of  social  contract — the  feeling  that 
society  owes  to  individuals,  and  possibly  to  classes,  protection 
and  guaranty  of  possession  of  what  it  has  allowed  them  to  ac¬ 
quire  and  to  which  it  has  both  permitted  and  encouraged  them 
to  become  habituated.  Something  of  this  feeling  is  doubtless 
inherent  in  all  conservatism,  especially  when  it  is  subject  to 
criticism  or  attack.  Where  vested  interests  are  threatened,  this 
contractual  sentiment  is  elaborated  into  a  logical  defense  of  the 
conservative  position. 

All  conservatism,  as  we  have  seen,  is  at  once  both  cause  and 
result  of  a  continuous  process  of  adjustment  of  the  individual 
to  a  social  environment  into  which  he  is  born.  This  adjustment 
is  by  way  of  habituation  to  a  system  of  institutions,  itself  the 
product  of  historical  evolution  and  prescriptive  accretion.  To 
the  degree  that  the  individual  is  habituated  or  adjusted  to  a 
position  of  superior  rights,  perquisites,  and  privileges  in  this 
system  of  established  and  conventionalized  relations  and  institu- 


80  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

tions,  he  will  have  strong  interest  in  the  preservation  of  the 
status  quo ,  and  be  ready  with  plausible,  if  not  valid,  argument 
against  progressive  or  radical  movements  which  would  inter¬ 
fere  with  his  vested  interest  in  things-as-they-are. 

Security  in  the  possession  and  enjoyment  of  valued  rights 
and  privileges  is  essentially  a  matter  of  convention  or  agreement 
(tacit  or  overt)  on  the  part  of  society  (that  is,  other  individ¬ 
uals)  not  to  interfere  or  permit  interference  with  them,  at  least 
so  long  as  they  are  not  abused  in  a  way  too  conspicuously  trav¬ 
ersing  the  accepted  canons  of  public  interest.  To  the  extent 
that  other  individuals  or  classes  refuse  to  admit  the  social  util¬ 
ity  of  these  conventions,  the  rights  and  privileges  sanctioned  by 
tliem  are  impaired.  To  the  degree  that  they  are  recognized  as 
valid,  the  resulting  protection  and  guarantee  may  be  regarded 
as  a  quasi-contractual  sanction  of  their  use  and  enjoyment. 

Were  there  no  established  habit  of  regarding  conventions  as 
binding,  at  least  to  a  certain  degree — in  other  words  were  there 
no  conventions — a  state  of  chronic  anarchy  would  exist.  The 
fact  that  a  multitude  of  conventions  do  exist  and  make  associa¬ 
tion  possible,  whatever  the  sanctions  of  those  conventions  may 
be,  is  indicative  of  a  certain  contractual  character  to  all  social 
relations.  The  theory  tacitly  held  to  by  interested  conservatism 
is  that  there  is  an  implied  contract  that  no  convention  will  be 
altered  or  abrogated  without  due  notice  and  that  all  members 
of  the  social  group  will  abide  by  it. 

This  contractual  concept  may  be  embodied  in  law  (common 
or  statute),  where  its  chief  manifestations  are  the  law  of  prop¬ 
erty  and  the  law  of  contract;  or  it  may  be  only  in  custom  or 
other  forms  of  social  control,  such  as  conventions  in  the  nar¬ 
row  sense  of  the  term.  But  however  embodied,  it  connotes 
reciprocal  duties  between  the  individual  and  society.  It  implies 
especially,  the  reasoning  runs,  the  obligation  of  society  to  pro¬ 
tect  the  individual  in  what  he  has  or  does  under  existing  law 
and  custom.  And  this  implies,  if  not  a  guarantee  against  any 
change  of  law  or  custom  adversely  affecting  his  interests,  at 
least  a  promise  that  he  will  be  reimbursed  for  any  injuring  or 
diminution  of  the  rights  and  privileges  hitherto  enjoyed.  Every 
vested  interest,  whether  acquired  by  legal  process  or  by  mere 
prescription  (unquestioned  exercise  of  possession  and  use),  is 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


81 


entitled  to  guarantee  against  change  of  the  status  quo.  Society 
can  make  no  alteration,  however  beneficial,  without  obtaining 
the  consent  of  the  individuals  or  classes  whose  special  interests 
are  affected. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  vested-interest  conservative 
always  reasons  consciously  in  this  manner,  but  this,  if  not  the 
argument  which  he  advances  in  so  many  words,  is  the  logic 
clearly  implied. 

Nor  is  it  to  be  supposed  that  vested-interest  conservatism 
is  an  attitude  to  which  the  individual  arrives  by  his  own  unsup¬ 
ported  feelings.  To  re-emphasize  what  was  said  above,  the 
interested  conservative  is  the  product  of  the  system  into  which 
he  is  born,  and  all  the  powerful  stimuli  of  family  and  social 
environment  conspire  to  produce  an  early  and  fixed  adjustment 
to  it.  This  is  a  principle  well  understood  and  consciously 
applied  in  those  authoritatively  directed  processes  of  habituation 
commonly  called  religious  training  and  education  for  citizenship, 
as  well  as  in  the  general  adaptation  of  young  persons  to  the 
existing  economic  system.  As  vested  interests  are  themselves 
the  product  of  historical  processes  of  acquisition  through  acts 
ranging  from  robbery,  conquest,  and  restriction  of  output,  to 
gift,  bargain  and  sale,  thrift,  and  actual  production,  so  the  atti¬ 
tude  engendered  by  these  interests,  and  functioning  for  their 
defense  and  perpetuation,  is  also  but  to-day’s  aspect  of  a  psy¬ 
chological  complex  handed  down  from  generation  to  generation 
in  an  unbroken  continuum  of  concepts  of  differential  privilege 
and  vested  right. 


CHAPTER  Y 


THE  METHODS  OF  INTERESTED  CONSERVATISM 

Having  completed  our  attempt  to  suggest  in  outline  the 
more  significant  aspects  of  the  nature  and  motivation 
of  interested  conservatism,  to  estimate  the  degree  and 
causes  of  its  prevalence  in  different  social  classes,  and  to  suggest 
its  relation  to  the  social  processes  of  historical  accretion,  habitua¬ 
tion,  and  adjustment,  we  might  assume  our  task  of  analysis  to 
be  finished.  Any  study  of  interested  conservatism  as  a  social 
viewpoint  would  be  lacking  in  practical  bearing,  however,  if  it 
stopped  short  of  some  consideration  of  the  methods  adopted  for 
the  protection  and  enhancement  of  established  rights  and 
interests. 

The  great  clash  between  conservatism  and  radicalism  to-day 
is  staged  in  the  field  of  economic  interests.  Viewed  broadly,  it 
is  the  battle  of  the  ‘‘haves”  with  the  “have-nots”;  of  the  privi¬ 
leged  with  the  non-privileged ;  of  the  powerful  with  those  whom 
they  have,  to  various  degrees,  in  their  power;  of  those  with 
prestige  with  those,  without  it,  who  challenge  it.  There  is 
what  Adam  Smith  would  have  called  a  “natural  propensity” 
in  men,  once  they  get  a  good  thing,  to  hang  on  to  it.  This,  in 
fact,  is  the  plain  essential  of  vested  interest  conservatism — to 
have  and  to  hold.  Classes  possessed  of  special  privileges,  of 
prestige,  and  of  power  have  rarely  been  known  to  give  them  up 
or  to  abate  their  use  and  abuse  unless  under  pressure  or  com¬ 
pulsion.  And  few  individuals,  whatever  their  claims  to  Chris¬ 
tian  disinterestedness,  and  however  great  their  consciousness 
of  self-rectitude,  voluntarily  renounce  or  even  question  the  rights 
and  privileges  of  which  they  stand  possessed. 

More  than  that,  those  many  individuals  who  possess  little 
except  a  propensity  for  acquisition,  or  a  strong  desire  for  that 
distinction  and  prestige  which,  according  to  popular  standards 
of  respectability,  flow  from  the  possession  of  considerable  wealth, 
will  never  countenance  overmuch  questioning  of  the  reality 

82 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


83 


or  worth  of  pecuniary  prestige  or  of  the  methods  open,  to  those 
not  too  sensitively  scrupulous  to  use  them,  to  obtain  it.  When 
the  central  motif  in  a  class  or  community  is  individual  material 
“  success,  ”  all  the  tenets  and  methods  of  economic  vested-interest 
conservatism  will  be  accepted  as  right — rules  in  the  game  of 
acquisition — by  those  who  hope  to  secure,  as  well  as  by  those 
who  have  secured,  power,  position,  and  prestige.  It  follows  that 
they  will  not  be  backward  in  devising  and  putting  into  practice 
methods  of  protecting  and  augmenting  their  interests,  actual  or 
hoped-for. 

All  methods  of  protecting  vested  interests  are  methods  of 
control — control  of  knowledge  and  information,  of  public  senti¬ 
ment  and  public  opinion,  of  economic  relations  and  ideals,  of 
governmental  functions,  of  the  organization  and  processes  of 
social  institutions  in  general.  These  methods  include  force, 
intimidation  (especially  economic  pressure  of  various  kinds), 
manipulation  of  political  machinery,  espionage  and  censorship 
(including  control  of  the  press  and  limitations  on  freedom  of 
teaching  and  preaching),  prestige,  the  absorption  into  vested 
interest  classes  of  erstwhile  progressive  and  radical  leaders,  and 
finally  propaganda,  both  honest  and  dishonest,  the  latter  includ¬ 
ing  various  devices  and  processes  classifiable  as  shibboleths,  clap¬ 
trap,  and  chicane. 

The  ultimate  basis  of  control,  the  final  resort  when  other 
methods  fail,  is  force.  Between  nations  this  means  war.  Be¬ 
tween  classes  in  the  same  nation  it  means  revolution  and  coun¬ 
ter-revolution.  Between  corporation  and  worker  it  means  vio¬ 
lence  in  labor  disputes.  At  the  least,  the  appeal  to  force  on 
the  part  of  the  defenders  of  the  status  quo  always  means  the 
exercise  of  the  police  power,  backed  by  police  force  and  militia.1 

The  police  power  may  be  used  for  the  introduction  of  radical 
change — as  when  it  is  appealed  to,  successfully,  in  the  courts 
to  validate  labor  legislation.  Force,  it  is  true,  is  a  sanction  to 
which  both  conservative  and  radical  can  and  do  appeal.  But 
the  conservative  has  usually  been  in  better  position  to  use  it. 
Those  in  control  of  governmental  machinery  and  of  the  wealth 

1  An  exception  must  be  made  of  lynching,  and  of  the  extra-legal  and 
illegal  violence  to  which  in  many  places  supposedly  disloyal  persons 
were  subjected  during  and  after  the  war. 


84  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

of  a  country  have  always  sought  either  by  actual  force  or  the 
threat  of  its  use  to  dampen  the  ardor  and  confidence  of  indi¬ 
viduals  or  classes  desiring  radical  change.  That  is  one  tacitly 
recognized  value  of  standing  armies,  universal  military  service, 
and  state  constabularies. 

Intimidation  may  be  applied  through  show  of  military  or 
police  power,  or  through  a  system  of  espionage,  or  through 
various  types  of  economic  and  social  pressure. 

Force,  show  of  force,  and  espionage  are  relatively  crude 
and  expensive  forms  of  control.  Far  more  economical,  more 
pervasive,  and  more  flexible  are  the  various  types  of  economic 
pressure  which  the  vested  interests  are  commonly  able  to  bring 
to  bear  upon  critics  and  opponents.  Economic  pressure  may  be 
directed  either  against  the  workers  and  other  classes  dependent 
upon  the  vested  interests,  or  against  wayward  members  of  the 
vested-interest  classes  themselves. 

The  power  of  discharge  is  the  fulcrum  of  the  most  common 
type  of  economic  pressure.  When  it  is  a  question  of  behaving 
as  your  employer  wants  you  to  behave,  or  of  losing  your  job  and 
facing,  if  not  starvation,  at  least  a  temporary  and  possibly  per¬ 
manent  lowering  of  your  standard  of  living,  you  are  going  to 
think  twice  before  committing  any  act  or  taking  any  overt  atti¬ 
tude  which  he  may  disapprove. 

It  is  in  the  employer  ’s  unlimited  power  of  hiring  and  firing 
that  workmen  have  found  one  of  the  strongest  motives  to  the 
formation  of  trade  unions  and  to  their  struggle  to  establish  the 
practice  of  collective  bargaining.  For  where  the  individual 
workman  is  helpless,  especially  if  the  employer  be  a  large  cor¬ 
poration,  the  whole  body  of  employees,  welded  into  organization 
for  concerted  action,  may  be  able  to  bring  to  bear  enough  eco¬ 
nomic  pressure  to  offset  that  of  the  employer — in  which  case 
the  employment  contract  will  be  made  between  parties  who 
bargain  on  somewhat  more  equal  terms.  This  is  why  conserva¬ 
tive  employers  fight  the  unions,  see  no  rule  of  reason  or  justice 
in  collective  bargaining,  and,  latterly,  welcome  a  reactionary 2 

2  Reactionary  in  the  sense  that  it  would  abolish  collective  bargaining 
even  where  it  has  been  established  and  proved  satisfactory  and  go  back 
to  conditions  which  have  long  since  been  regarded  as  undesirable  not 
only  by  workers  but  by  many  thoughtful  employers.  The  “open  shop” 
as  currently  advocated  is  a  closed  non-union  shop. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


85 


“open  shop”  movement.  If  successful  this  movement  could 
have  but  one  of  two  results — namely,  either  to  throw  all  workers 
into  individual  economic  dependence  upon  the  corporations  who 
control  productive  resources  and  can  grant  or  withhold  employ¬ 
ment  at  will;  or  to  drive  the  whole  organized  labor  movement 
underground  into  secret  societies,  such  as  the  Knights  of  Labor 
were  in  their  earlier  years,  with  all  the  attendant  evils  of  secrecy, 
suspicion,  and  irresponsibility.  Where  the  economie  pressure 
involved  in  the  privilege  of  hiring  and  firing  at  will  is  not  pres¬ 
ent,  employers  will  have  recourse  to  the  blacklist,  the  shutdown, 
and  lockout  (corresponding  to  organized  labor’s  unfair  list, 
boycott,  strikes,  and  “vacations”).3 

Here  again  actual  resort  to  these  measures  may  not  be  neces¬ 
sary.  Threat  or  hint  may  be  sufficient  to  intimidate  the  work¬ 
ers.  Without  threatening  a  general  shutdown  the  employer  may 
cause  the  impression  to  go  abroad  that  action  which  workers  may 
contemplate  taking  would  produce  conditions  in  which  reduced 
wages  and  unemployment  would  be  inevitable.  It  has  been 
alleged,  for  instance,  that  some  concerns  which  in  the  past  have 
profited  handsomely  from  high  protective  tariffs  have  forestalled 
any  propensity  employees  might  evince  to  think  favorably  of 
free  trade  or  tariff  for  revenue  only,  by  letting  it  be  known  that 
a  Democratic  victory  would  be  followed  by  a  shutdown  or  a 
reduction  of  wages.  Whether  such  claims  had  any  foundation 
in  truth  is  not  here  the  question.  The  threat  might  be  effec¬ 
tive  even  if  the  reasons  alleged  for  it  were  entirely  false,  pro¬ 
vided  the  workers  had  reason  to  suppose  that  the  employer 
would  carry  out  the  threat  regardless  of  the  truth  or  falsity  of 
his  allegations.  Threats  of  like  nature  have  of  late  been  frequent 
as  an  intimidation  device  to  obstruct  the  further  organization  of 
labor  or  increase  in  its  collective  bargaining  strength.  It  is 
perhaps  open  to  question  now,  however,  whether  labor  has  not 

3  It  is  worth  while  to  note  here  the  perfectly  known  fact  that  where 
the  vested  business  interests  are  in  virtual  control  of  legislation,  if 
not  the  courts,  labor’s  freedom  to  use  these,  and  other  weapons,  like 
picketing,  is  very  greatly  curtailed  by  legal  enactment  and  judicial 
decision — especially  in  the  form  of  injunctions.  The  very  great — and 
from  the  standpoint  of  labor,  and  perhaps  that  also  of  the  rest  of  the 
public — exceedingly  dangerous  extensions  of  the  sphere  of  injunctions 
as  upheld  in  recent  Supreme  Court  decisions,  offers  additional  testimony 
to  the  power  of  vested-interest  attitudes. 


86  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

attained  to  such  sophistication  and  has  not  now  snch  able  advis¬ 
ers  and  leaders  that  such  threats  rather  stimulate  than  retard 
what  they  are  aimed  against. 

The  more  powerful  a  person  or  class  and  the  greater  the 
ability  to  make  use  of  intimidation,  the  less  scrupulousness  there 
is  likely  to  be  in  its  use.  Power  tends  to  become  irresponsible 
— in  the  sense  that  it  does  not  have  to  answer  for  its  acts  before 
any  bar  which  can  effectively  convict  it — and  intimidation  is 
often  an  easier  method  than  rational  persuasion. 

It  is  to  be  expected  that  powerful  business  concerns  will  in¬ 
timidate  the  smaller  ones  whenever  the  latter  threaten  to  become 
troublesome.  The  history  of  the  trust  movement  is  full  of 
instances  in  which  firms  have  been  compelled,  under  threat  of 
being  driven  out  of  business,  to  sell  out  to  the  “combine,”  on 
the  latter’s  own  terms.  The  trust  movement  may  be  regarded 
as  an  excellent  example  of  the  unscrupulous  radicalism  of 
method  to  which  conservative  but  powerful  vested  interests 
will  resort  when  it  is  profitable  to  do  so. 

Touching  more  people,  and  somewhat  more  within  the  inti¬ 
mate  knowledge  of  the  average  man,  are  forms  of  economic 
intimidation  involving  the  withholding  of  patronage  and  credit, 
or  threats  to  do  so.  A  large,  if  not  the  greater,  part  of  the 
diplomacies  and  amenities  of  business  relations  are  based  upon 
fears  arising  from  the  presence  of  this  power.4  Interesting  and 
informing  illustrations  could  be  drawn  from  the  inside  chron¬ 
icles  of  big  business,  of  railroad  finance,  of  combinations  of 
buyers  to  depress  the  price  of  raw  material,  like  crude  petro¬ 
leum,  live  stock,  etc.,  but  these  are  matters  of  hearsay  to  the 
average  citizen.  Everyone  can  understand,  however,  that  the 
average  merchant  or  manufacturer  does  not  go  out  of  his  way 
to  offend  his  banker.  Neither  do  the  small  banks,  except  under 
extraordinary  provocation,  attempt  to  declare  their  independ¬ 
ence  from  the  large  ones.  A  small  town  bank  has  the  power 
to  withhold  loans  from  a  business  concern  whose  methods  do  not 
please  it  or  the  wife  of  whose  manager  is  persona  non  grata  to 
the  wife  of  the  bank’s  leading  director.  This  is  not  necessarily 
saying  that  such  power  is  frequently  used,  but  every  business 


4  Sinclair  Lewis  has  made  it  one  of  the  motifs  in  Babbitt. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


87 


man  knows  that  it  is  there.  And  under  present-day  business 
organization  power  over  credit  is  practically  power  of  life  and 
death  over  all  but  the  largest  business  concerns.* * * * 5 

In  farming  communities,  where  social  and  economic  condi¬ 
tions  make  for  the  presence  of  a  large  number  of  dependent  ten¬ 
ants — a  situation  met  with  everywhere  in  the  South — economic 
intimidation  is  widely  prevalent.  The  tenant  is  not  infrequently 
so  poor  in  earthly  possessions  that  he  can  live  until  the  next  crop 
is  harvested  and  sold,  only  if  the  landowner  or  banker  or  store¬ 
keeper  (sometimes  one  and  the  same  individual)  “ carry’ ’  him 
by  loans,  either  of  cash  or  of  food  and  feed.  In  such  situation 
he  may  be  for  the  time  being  little  removed  from  the  position 
of  peonage. 

The  following  incident  is  of  not  infrequent  occurrence  in 
certain  more  backward  agricultural  communities  of  the  South. 
A  local  school  district  has  an  election  to  decide  whether  more 
money  shall  be  raised  for  the  schools  the  coming  year.  If  the 
school  is  held  for  six  months  instead  of  five,  or  if  the  teacher’s 
salary  is  raised,  taxes  will  be  increased.  In  some  districts  the 
greater  portion  of  the  land  is  owned  by  a  few  large  land  hold¬ 
ers,  who  live  in  a  neighboring  town  where  their  own  children 
have  comparatively  good  schools,  but  where  they  do  not  pay 
taxes  on  their  land.  Not  wishing  to  be  taxed  for  even  the  ele¬ 
mentary  education  of  negroes,  Mexicans,  and  poor  white  trash 
these  landowners  give  notice  to  their  tenants  that  they  will 
be  dispossessed  at  the  expiration  of  their  annual  lease  if  they 
vote  the  increased  school  tax.6  In  many  cases  such  threats  are 
successful,  and  in  part  serve  to  explain  the  pitiful  inadequacy 
of  the  rural  schools  in  some  of  the  richest  and  wealthiest  agri¬ 
cultural  regions  of  the  South. 

Economic  intimidation  is  very  effective  when  applied  to  the 
members  of  certain  professions.  Even  lawyers  and  physicians 

6  Interesting  material  on  the  power  of  the  great  banking  interests 

can  he  found  in  the  Report  of  the  Committee  Appointed  Pursuant  to 

House  Resolutions  429  and  504  to  Investigate  the  Concentration  of  the 

Control  of  Money  and  Credit  (The  Pujo  Committee  Report),  1913,  and 

in  John  Moody,  Masters  of  Capital,  1919. 

6  See,  for  example,  A.  C.  Burkholder,  “The  Rural  Schools  of  Hays 
County,  Texas,”  Southwest  Texas  State  Normal  School  Bulletin,  Feb., 
1918,  p.  10. 


88  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

are  somewhat  exposed  to  it,  but  salaried  people,  like  teachers, 
are  not  uncommonly  in  abject  subjection  to  it — another  case 
of  the  hiring  and  firing  prerogative  of  those  in  power.  In 
many  localities  the  private  conduct  of  public  school  teachers 
is  subjected  to  regulations  galling  and  degrading  to  self-re¬ 
spect.  In  many  small  towns  they  are  given  definitely  to  under¬ 
stand  that  they  must  not  play  cards  or  attend  dances.  It  is  said 
to  be  not  uncommon  for  the  school  board  to  rule  that  teachers 
shall  not  receive  callers  or  attend  social  functions  or  public 
entertainments  on  evenings  preceding  a  school  day.  Court  deci¬ 
sions  have  held  that  a  school  board  has  no  power  to  impose 
contractual  conditions  governing  teachers’  time  outside  of 
school  hours,  but  the  teacher  who  fails  to  conform  to  what¬ 
ever  regulations  the  board  sees  fit  to  lay  down,  or  who  does  not 
conform  somewhat  carefully  to  the  conventions  and  ecclesiastical 
predilections  of  the  community,  knows  that  she  will  be  dropped 
at  the  end  of  the  year  and  find  it  difficult  to  secure  another 
position.  Economic  intimidation  compels  her  to  swallow  her 
self-respect. 

It  may  be  noted,  further,  that  from  time  immemorial  women, 
have  been  economically  dependent,  and  to  a  very  great  extent 
still  are  so.  This  dependence  has  been  an  important  factor  in 
the  apparently  ‘‘natural”  conservatism  and  timidity  of  women. 
And  it  certainly  has  been  one  of  the  main  factors  in  the  develop¬ 
ment  of  those  feminine  characteristics — reserve,  deference,  con¬ 
ventionality,  “indirect  influence,”  etc.,  which,  in  the  past  at 
least,  seem  so  to  have  appealed  to  men  as  constituting  the  essen¬ 
tially  womanly  character.  Men  have  exercised  the  right  of  eco¬ 
nomic  pressure  without  always  understanding  how  far-reaching 
its  results  are  sure  to  be.  Many  women  reared  from  childhood 
in  an  atmosphere  of  the  subtle  chicane  of  ‘  ‘  charm  ’  ’  and  tactful 
“management”  of  fathers  and  husbands  have  themselves  lost 
power  to  evaluate  frankly  at  their  true  moral  worth  the  atti¬ 
tudes  and  methods  suitable  to  economic  dependence. 

Economic  pressure  is  an  effective  device,  but  in  and  by  itself 
is  not  sufficient.  Law  may  be  made  a  powerful  ally  of  the 
vested  interests.  Hence  they  have  always,  so  far  as  possible, 
retained  control  of  the  law-making  function  and  fought  vig¬ 
orously  and  bitterly  every  attempt  of  the  non-possessing  masses 
to  gain  a  voice  in  government.  Many  illustrations  will  occur 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


89 


to  anyone  even  superficially  familiar  with  political  history.  The 
various  franchise  reforms  in  England,  the  successful  resist¬ 
ance  of  the  Prussian  junkers  to  abolition  of  the  three-class  vot¬ 
ing  system,  the  fight  everywhere  waged  against  woman  suf¬ 
frage,  the  resistance  to  abolition  of  the  property  qualification 
in  the  American  Colonies,  the  opposition  of  conservative  inter¬ 
ests  to  the  direct  primary,  the  initiative  and  referendum,  the 
direct  election  of  senators,  etc.,  are  examples  in  point.1 

And  where  the  people,  including  the  industrial  and  agricul¬ 
tural  workers,  have  gained  the  formal  right  to  a  voice  in  the 
election  of  representatives,  the  special  interests  have  been  effec¬ 
tively  ingenious  in  devising  means  by  which  the  right  should  be 
deprived  of  a  too  real  content.  It  is  not  a  matter  of  chance  or 
accident  that  in  the  past,  at  least,  the  United  States  Senate  has 
had  so  many  members  who  notoriously  represented  the  big 
business  interests  instead  of  the  people;  that  lawyers  predomi¬ 
nate  in  the  personnel  of  the  House  of  Representatives;  that 
commissions  and  boards  do  not  always  place  public  interest 
above  corporate  and  private  privilege ;  or  that  the  courts  are 
so  meticulous  in  their  protection,  and  so  broad  in  their  interpre¬ 
tation,  of  intangible  assets  and  matters  of  like  financial  impor¬ 
tance  to  the  investing  and  speculating  classes. 

The  solid  business  interests  have  in  large  measure  retained 
control  of  political  machinery,  especially  of  the  nominating 
machinery  (in  spite  of  direct  primaries),  and  have  thereby  been 
able  not  only  to  prevent,  or  retard,  reform  legislation,  but  par¬ 
tially  to  nullify  through  executive  and  administrative  channels 
the  legislation  that  is  passed.  If  the  courts  at  times  represent 
the  special  interests  rather  than  the  people  at  large,  that  may 
be  due  to  the  fact  that  the  judges  are  elderly  lawyers  who  ac¬ 
quired  their  economic  and  legal  training  a  generation  ago,  and 
who  have  been  little  influenced  by  the  modern  social  point  of 
view.  That  this  may  not  be  the  sole  reason,  however,  is  sug¬ 
gested  by  the  storm  of  criticism  which  enveloped  President 
Wilson  when  he  appointed  to  the  Supreme  Court  a  prominent 


7  See  any  good  history  of  England ;  W.  H.  Dawson,  Evolution  of  Mod¬ 
ern  Germany ,  1914,  pp.  434ff.  A.  S.  McKinley,  The  Suffrage  Franchise 
in  the  Thirteen  English  Colonies  of  America ,  1905 ;  A.  B.  Wolfe,  “Man¬ 
hood  Suffrage  in  the  United  States,’’  in  the  Woman  Citizens ’  Library , 
Vol.  7,  1913. 


90  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

lawyer  known  to  be  sympathetic  toward  labor  and  critical  of 
the  wasteful  financing  of  American  railroads. 

That  the  vested  interest  conservatives  have  gone  perhaps  a 
bit  too  far  in  their  control  of  governmental  functions  is  indi¬ 
cated  by  the  growing  favorable  attitudes  toward  “direct  ac¬ 
tion,’  *  guild  socialism,  sovietism  (representation  by  trade  or 
industry  instead  of  by  geographical  districts)  and  like  current 
ultra-radical  doctrines,  on  the  part  of  significantly  large  num¬ 
bers  of  the  citizens  of  nearly  every  industrial  country  of  the 
Western  World. 

To  combat  these  movements,  justly  recognized  to  be  danger¬ 
ous  to  vested  rights  and  subversive  of  traditional  standards  of 
law  and  equity,  the  war,  fortunately  or  unfortunately,  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  point  of  view,  has  brought  to  the  assistance  of  the 
vested  interests  a  device  of  which,  while  not  hitherto  overlooked 
custom,  law,  tradition,  and  public  opinion  had  permitted  only 
a  limited  use. 

Freedom  of  speech,  press,  and  assemblage  were  definitely 
guaranteed  in  America  by  the  framers  of  the  United  States  Con¬ 
stitution.* * * * 8  But  under  pressure  of  the  war,  of  fear  of  German 
spies,  of  the  foreign  language  press,  of  Bolshevism  and  other 
agencies  menacing  to  established  vested  interests,  this  consti¬ 
tutional  guarantee  was  set  aside  by  the  Espionage  Acts  of  1917 
and  interpreted  away  by  court  decisions. 

Into  the  question,  however  deep  its  significance  for  the  lib¬ 
erties  and  safety  of  American  people  and  American  institutions 
may  be,  of  the  justifiability  or  un justifiability  of  the  Espionage 
Acts,  the  criminal  syndicalism  statutes  and  their  interpretation 
by  the  courts,  or  the  Postoffice  Department’s  irresponsible  cen¬ 
sorship  of  the  press,  we  will  not  here  enter.9  But  there  can 
be  no  gainsaying  that  espionage  and  censorship  systems  are 

s  The  first  Amendment  to  the  Constitution  reads :  Congress  shall 

make  no  law  respecting  an  establishment  of  religion,  or  prohibiting  the 

free  exercise  thereof ;  or  abridging  the  freedom  of  speech  or  of  the 

press;  or  the  right  of  the  people  peaceably  to  assemble  and  to  petition 

the  government  for  a  redress  of  grievances. 

9  An  admirable  treatment  of  the  subject  in  its  legal  aspects  is  Zechar- 
iah  Chafee’s  Freedom  of  Speech,  1920.  It  is  worthy  of  note  that  certain 
organized  interests  sought  to  have  Professor  Chafee  discharged  from 
his  position,  in  the  Harvard  Law  School  for  the  writing  of  this  book. 
For  bibliography  see  Chafee,  and  Theodore  Schroeder,  Free  Speech  Bib¬ 
liography,  1922. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


91 


most  powerful  weapons  of  repression  in  the  hand  of  those  in 
possession  of  governmental  machinery,  whether  they  be  flag- 
waving  representatives  of  vested  economic  interests  in  Ameri¬ 
can  State  legislatures  or  autocratic  Bolshevist  officials  in  revo¬ 
lutionary  Russia. 

When  espionage  and  censorship  are  engaged  in  by  private 
organizations,  the  invasion  of  civil  liberties  is  almost  as  danger¬ 
ous  and  irresponsible  as  governmental  invasion.  When  the  two 
systems  are  co-ordinated,  the  situation  is  dangerous  in  the  ex¬ 
treme.  Among  the  weapons  of  the  industrial  vested  interests  is 
the  spy  system  employed  by  many  large  corporations  to  keep 
tab  on  radicals  and  union  organizers  in  the  ranks  of  their  em¬ 
ployees  and  weed  them  out  as  fast  as  they  come  in.10  Such  spy 
systems,  especially  where  agents  provocateurs  are  employed,  are 
effective  in  impairing  the  morale  of  the  groups  spied  upon.  In 
the  long  run,  however,  they  react  unfavorably  on  the  interests 
which  make  use  of  them.  Another  device  is  control  of  the  police 
force  and  the  local  government  officials,  who  then  are  the  crea¬ 
tures  of  the  interests  and  regard  the  repression  of  radical  free 
speech  and  free  assemblage — and  especially  the  hampering, 
arrest,  or  deportation  of  union  organizers  and  agitators — as 
one  of  their  chief  functions. 

Allusion  was  made  above  to  the  economic  pressure  which  vested 
interests,  large  and  small,  are  able  to  bring  to  bear  upon  teach¬ 
ers  and  preachers.  Such  pressure  amounts  practically  to  cen¬ 
sorship.* 11  There  are  not  lacking  cases  in  which  it  approaches 
the  character  of  private  and  irresponsible  espionage.  Freedom 
of  thought  and  freedom  of  teaching  are  recognized  everywhere 
by  liberal-minded  people  as  a  condition  necessary  to  real  edu¬ 
cation.  But  there  is  a  very  large  number  of  people  who  do  not 
see  this,  and  who  want  “safe”  teachers — that  is,  teachers  who 


10  See  Interchurch  World  Movement,  Report  of  the  Steel  Strike  of 
1019,  pp.  221ff;  Interchurch  World  Movement,  Public  Opinion  and  the 
Steel  Strike,  1921,  Chapter  I,  on  “Under-cover  Men.”  See  also  “The 
Labor  Spy”;  (Digest  of  a  Report  Made  under  the  Auspices  of  the  Cabot 
Fund  for  Industrial  Research),  a  series  of  articles  in  the  New  Republic , 
1921. 

11 A  case  has  recently  come  to  the  writer’s  notice  in  which  a  normal 
school  president  forbade  teachers  in  the  English  Department  to  use  the 
Now  Republic  in  their  classes — presumably  not  on  the  ground  that  the 
New  Republic  disseminates  models  of  poor  syntax^ 


92  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

will  not  seriously  investigate  the  untoward  side  of  the  estab¬ 
lished  order  and  who  will  not  venture  seriously  to  criticize  the 
point  of  view,  the  standards,  ethics,  or  methods  of  the  current 
vested  interests. 

But  the  matter  does  not  stop  there.  The  economic  vested 
interests,  or  individuals  who  are  associated  with  them  and  have 
their  point  of  view,  are  largely  in  control  of  educational  admin¬ 
istration.  It  is  of  course  a  notorious  fact  that  before  the  war 
no  professor  could  long  retain  his  place  in  certain  of  the  larger 
German  universities  unless  he  took  at  least  a  complacent  atti¬ 
tude  toward  the  militarism  and  imperialism  of  the  ruling  classes. 
In  this  country  the  history  of  interference  with  academic  free¬ 
dom  is  a  long  one,  beginning  back  in  the  days  when  the  churches 
were  fighting  the  theory  of  evolution  and  the  denominational 
colleges  were  attempting  to  hamper  the  development  and 
besmirch  the  reputation  of  the  state  universities.12  Teachers  of 
biology  were  thus  the  first  group,  in  recent  decades,  to  have 
to  meet  the  attacks,  not  always  intelligent  or  scrupulously  fair 
and  honest,  of  the  vested  interests.  In  this  case,  however,  the 
attacking  interests  were  not  economic,  but  ecclesiastical.  Later, 
during  the  free  silver  agitation  of  the  1890’s,  several  professors 
of  economics  and  political  science  lost  their  situations  because 
their  expressed  views  on  the  monetary  issue  did  not  agree  with 
those  of  trustees  and  financial  supporters.  This  period  marked, 
in  most  parts  of  the  country,  the  gradual  cessation  of  attacks 
on  the  biologists,13  and  the  beginning  of  the  attacks  and  pressure 
which  the  reactionary  economic  vested  interests  have  from  time 
to  time  put  forth  against  the  teachers  of  the  social  sciences. 
These  attacks  have  increased  in  number  since  1914,  and  espe¬ 
cially  since  it  became  apparent  that  non-orthodox  economic 
theories  had  something  more  than  an  academic  or  foreign  inter¬ 
est,  and  that  the  economists  and  sociologists  were  developing  a 
disagreeable  habit  of  probing  beneath  the  surface  of  corporate 
affairs  and  vested-interest  business  methods. 

There  is  probably  not  a  direct  representative  of  the  indus- 


12  See  Andrew  D.  White,  Autobiography,  1905,  Vol.  I,  Ch.  24. 

13  The  present  recrudescence  of  the  ignorant  hue  and  cry  against  “the 
teaching  of  evolution”  in  schools  and  colleges  may  be  regarded  as  an 
adventitious  piece  of  sentimental  crusading  expressive  of  the  demoraliza¬ 
tion  of  rational  balance  incident  to  wartime  nervous  strain. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


93 


trial  working  classes  on  the  board  of  trustees  of  any  important 
American  university.  The  members  of  governing  boards  are 
not  unnaturally  drawn  mainly  from  the  business  classes  (espe¬ 
cially  financial  men)  ;  and  the  great  majority  of  members  will 
be  found  to  belong  if  not  to  the  higher  income  classes  at  least 
to  those  well-to-do  ranks  in  which  the  middle  class,  vested-inter¬ 
est  attitude  is  pretty  sure  to  be  prevalent. 

This  being  the  case,  it  should  be  noted  to  the  credit  of  human 
nature  that  interference  with  academic  freedom  is  not  more 
frequent.  But  the  mere  knowledge  of  the  presence  of  indivi¬ 
duals  who  are  allied  to  powerful  and  conservative  vested  inter¬ 
ests,  and  who  may  at  any  moment  make  trouble,  is  a  deterrent 
upon  freedom  and  honesty  of  teaching.  That  there  are  many 
hypocritical  teachers  is  as  certain  as  that  there  are  many  soft- 
stepping  preachers.  Both  fear* the  loss  of  their  jobs,  and  thereby 
their  livelihood.14 

Of  all  forms  of  censorship,  however,  that  of  the  press  is  most 
effective  and  far-reaching.  The  press,  as  the  leading  dissemi¬ 
nator  both  of  information  and  misinformation,  is  an  influence 
transcending  all  others  in  the  formation  of  public  sentiment  and 
opinion.  There  was  a  time  when  almost  anything  in  print  would 
be  believed,  provided  it  did  not  appear  in  a  newspaper  whose 
political  affiliation  was  opposed  to  that  of  the  reader.  That 
time  is  past,  however,  as  is  also  the  day  when  metropolitan 
dailies  and  country  weeklies  were  all  staunch  and  unwavering 
party  organs.  Today  many  newspaper  readers — all  sophisti¬ 
cated  ones — have  become  skeptical  as  to  the  trustworthiness  of 
the  news  they  read,  and  still  more  critical  and  cynical  toward 
editorials,  when  the  latter  are  read  at  all.  Nevertheless,  much 
of  the  old  uncritical,  credulous  spirit  remains,  and  even  where 
it  does  not,  the  daily  newspaper,  together  with  the  weekly 
journals  read  by  a  large  part  of  the  more  intelligent  public,  con¬ 
stitute  the  sole  avenue  through  which  the  world’s  current 
events  are  made  known  to  the  people. 

Opportunities  for  censoring  and  “doctoring”  the  news  by 
the  news  gathering  agencies,  editors,  and  proprietors  are  thus 
of  great  significance.  Certain  developments  of  the  past  ten 

14  Records  of  cases  of  dismissal  on  grounds  of  economic  heresy  can  be 
found  in  the  Bulletins  of  the  American  Association  of  University  Pro¬ 
fessors. 


94  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

years  or  so  have  made  it  probable  that  news  doctoring  and 
censorship  are  now  much  more  common  than  formerly.  The 
establishment  and  operation  of  a  city  daily  require  large  capital. 
In  the  past  decade  many  formerly  well-known  papers  have 
suspended  publication,  and  there  is  a  continued  strong  tendency 
toward  the  concentration  of  the  ownership  and  management  of 
metropolitan  dailies  into  the  hands  of  a  few  wealthy  capitalists 
who  have  extensive  commercial  and  industrial  interests.  In  the 
second  place,  the  modern  newspaper  subsists  much  more  on 
income  from  advertisements  than  on  its  sale  of  the  news.  This 
is  even  more  true  of  the  popular  magazines.  And  in  the  third 
place,  the  newspapers  are  largely  dependent  for  their  news 
upon  the  great  incorporated  news  gathering  and  distributing 
agencies.  If  the  news  agency  is  inaccurate  or  unfair  in  its  news 
dispatches,  the  newspaper  will  almost  inevitably  reflect  the 
same  defects. 

Vested-interest  control  is  exercised  directly  by  the  owners, 
who  have  the  power  of  hiring  and  firing  the  staff,  from  news¬ 
boy  to  managing  editor.  Naturally  the  owner  has  a  “ policy,’’ 

* 

and  naturally  that  policy  is  not  likely  to  be  one  which  will  in¬ 
jure  his  other  business  interests  or  run  counter  to  the  principles 
and  prejudices  of  his  class.  He  hires  editors  and  managers 
who  will  carry  out  his  policy,  and  they  in  turn  hire  reporters 
who  will  report  the  news  with  the  sort  of  bias  demanded  by  the 
owner.  Most  people  know  that  when  they  read  an  editorial  they 
are  not  necessarily  getting  the  editor’s  honest  opinion  but  opin¬ 
ions  which  he  is  paid  to  write.  News  goes  through  three  edit¬ 
ings,  with  three  opportunities  for  suppression  and  “doctoring” 
before  it  reaches  the  public — first  by  the  news  gathering 
agency,  second  by  the  editors,  and  finally  by  the  headline 
writers. 

Vested-interest  control  and  censorship  of  news  and  editorial 
opinion  is  further  exerted  by  the  big  advertisers.  Nothing  un¬ 
favorable  to  the  great  department  stores  ever  gets  into  the 
metropolitan  dailies;  these  advertisers  hold  a  club  over  the 
papers  whose  chief  financial  support  they  are.  There  are  a  few 
outstanding  exceptions  to  this  general  statement,  but  only  a 
handful. 

Furthermore  most  owners  and  editors  belong  to  the  capital- 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


95 


istic  employing  class,  hold  its  views,  take  its  attitudes,  and 
defend  its  interests.  They  have  greater  interest  in  the  affairs 
of  this  class  than  in  those  of  the  working  classes,  and  they  see 
industrial  unrest,  labor  difficulties,  and  the  progressivism  and 
radicalism  of  the  non-capitalistic  classes  from  the  point  of  view 
of  the  employing  class.  Even  were  there  not  definite  and  direct 
financial  control,  the  conservative  attitude  would  be  widely  re¬ 
flected  in  the  press. 

The  result  of  these  influences  is  that  the  so-called  “  capitalist 
press,’ ’  which  includes  practically  all  but  a  handful  of  metro¬ 
politan  dailies,  three  or  four  weekly  reviews,  and  the  labor  and 
socialist  press,  even  where  it  gives  true  news  as  to  laboring  class 
interests  and  movements,  too  frequently  gives  it  in  such  one¬ 
sided  and  incomplete  form  that  it  is  equivalent  to  false  news. 
There  is  reliable  evidence  as  to  downright,  conscious,  and  mali¬ 
cious  misrepresentation,  also. 

It  must  in  fairness  be  said,  however,  that  labor  is  perhaps 
partly  to  blame  for  this  state  of  affairs.  Ordinarily,  perhaps, 
when  local  issues  are  not  too  passionate  or  stale,  newspapers 
will  publish  labor  news  without  conscious  bias.  One  reason  why 
they  do  not  publish  more  of  it  is  that  they  think  the  “ public” 
is  not  interested  in  it;  another  is  that  whereas  the  capitalistic 
interests  are  adept  at  publicity  when  they  want  publicity,  labor 
has  until  very  recently  taken  no  steps  to  furnish  the  newspapers 
with  news  stories. 

All  this  censoring,  repressing,  “doctoring,”  “faking”  and 
misrepresentation  has  had  profound  effect  in  keeping  general 
public  sentiment  true  to  the  conservative  mold.  But  it  is  a  game 
at  which  radicalism  can  play  also.  One  who  wishes  full  infor¬ 
mation  on  labor’s  activities  and  news  of  the  radical  movements 
abroad  must  turn  to  certain  labor  and  socialist  papers.  But 
here  also  he  must  remember  that  there  are  “policies”  and  con¬ 
trols.  Much  of  the  labor  press  is  as  inaccurate  and  vitupera¬ 
tive  with  regard  to  capital  and  employers  as  the  capitalist  press 
is  of  organized  labor  and  socialism.  If  the  radicals  had  control 
of  the  press,  as  in  Russia  they  have,  it  can  scarcely  be  open  to 
doubt  that  they  would  pursue  much  the  same  tactics  of  mis¬ 
representation,  distortion,  propaganda,  censorship,  and  repres¬ 
sion  with  which  the  “kept  press”  of  the  vested  interests  is 


96  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

charged,  not  without  good  evidence,  with  pursuing.15  This  does 
not  alter  the  fact,  however,  that  control  and  censorship  of  in¬ 
formation  constitute  one  of  the  most  effective  weapons  and  meth¬ 
ods  of  vested-interest  conservatism. 

Control  of  the  press  is  a  method  of  purchasing  influence.  The 
vested  interests,  on  occasion,  also  resort  to  the  more  direct  meth¬ 
ods  of  bribery  and  distribution  of  patronage.  The  annals  of  the 
relation  between  business  and  government  yield  copious  illus¬ 
tration  of  known  graft  and  bribery,  suggestive  of  an  immense 
additional  mass  which  never  comes  to  the  light  of  common  knowl¬ 
edge. 

An  effective  indirect  method  of  purchase,  also,  is  to  draw  the 
able  leaders  away  from  progressive  and  radical  camps,  or  out 
of  poorly  paid  governmental  positions  in  which  they  are  devot¬ 
ing  their  energies  to  the  public  welfare,  by  offering  them  higher 
salaries  and  the  prestige  of  rising  above  their  class.  The  lure 
of  social  prestige  and  a  comfortable  income  is  hard  for  some 
temperaments  to  resist. 

The  forms  of  interested  conservative  control  thus  far  outlined 
involve  compulsion  or  pressure.  Those  which  follow,  namely 
(a)  prestige,  and  (&)  propaganda,  shibboleths,  slogans,  and 
chicane,  involve  not  so  much  compulsion,  or  pressure,  as  persua¬ 
sion  and  suggestion.  Political  control,  however,  partakes  of 
both  compulsion  and  suggestion.  Political  control  is  realized 
through  the  legal  processes — legislative,  administrative,  and 
judicial — which  collectively  involve  the  compulsion  connoted  by 
law.  But  the  control  of  political  machinery  and  of  legal 
processes,  is  not,  except  through  comparatively  rare  coups  d’etat 
or  revolutions,  attained  by  force.  Ordinarily  it  is  obtained,  and 
retained,  either  by  honest  discussion  and  threshing  out  of  the 
issues  of  the  day,  or  by  the  more  common  processes  of  appeal  to 


15  A  copious  literature  on  the  subject  of  the  press  and  its  control  has 
grown  up  in  the  past  few  years.  An  excellent  book,  because  it  gives 
both  sides,  is  The  Profession  of  Journalism,  edited  by  W.  G.  Bleyer,  1918. 
It  contains  a  useful  bibliography.  Another  book  of  different  type,  but 
quite  as  significant,  is  Upton  Sinclair’s  The  Brass  Check,  1920.  It  is  a 
savage  attack  on  the  capitalistic  press  by  a  socialist  who  has  had  abund¬ 
ant  journalistic  experience.  Mr.  Sinclair  backs  up  his  accusations  with 
definite  evidence,  giving  names,  dates,  and  detailed  circumstances.  See 
also  Walter  Lippman,  Liberty  and  the  News,  1920,  and  Public  Opinion , 
1922  (especially  pp.  334-337,  and  Ch.  24). 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


97 


prejudice  and  sentiment,  of  persuasive  trickery.  It  employs  the 
usual  devices  of  self-  or  class-interest  whiah  are  embodied  in 
disingenuous,  if  not  dishonest,  propaganda,  and  in  the  chicanery 
which  notoriously  characterized  “ politics”  in  the  bad,  and 
unfortunately,  popular  sense  of  the  term. 

The  first  of  the  suggestive  or  persuasive  agencies  of  control 
is  prestige.  Because  of  their  wealth  and  the  social  position  which 
goes  with  wealth,  the  vested-interest  classes  enjoy  a  prestige  to 
which  other  classes  cannot  lay  claim.  They  are  thus  able  to 
supplement  the  compulsory  forms  of  control  with  this  attractive 
influence,  which,  so  far  as  it  can  be  made  effective,  leaves  far 
less  sting  than  economic  pressure.  We  saw  above 16  that  the 
prestige  of  wealth  is  the  strongest,  the  most  wide-spread,  and 
the  most  persuasive  of  all  prestige,  because  it  attaches  not  only 
to  wealth  per  se  but  to  many  other  characteristics  which  are 
based  upon  wealth.  We  saw  also  that  prestige  is  usually  in 
inverse  ratio  to  the  development  of  the  critical  faculty.  Now 
whether  from  the  development  and  the  freer  functioning  of 
critical  capacity  or  from  a  more  open  and  fiercer  hostility  of 
class  interests,  the  prestige  of  wealth,  financial  interest,  and 
social  position  has  of  late  suffered  some  diminution.  Doubtless 
this  helps  to  some  extent  to  account  for  the  present  bitterness 
of  class  animosities.  Encroachment  upon  the  exclusive  prestige 
of  vested  interests  is  resented,  much  as  a  man  resents  injury  to 
his  vanity.  Moreover,  any  successful  attack  upon  the  vested 
interests,  or  limitation  of  their  powers  and  privileges,  reduces 
their  prestige.  Hence  such  attacks  would  be  resisted,  even  apart 
from  materialistic  considerations. 

But  while  prestige — and  especially  the  prestige  of  wealth  and 
social  position,  in  a  somewhat  militantly  democratic  age — has 
to  be  guarded  by  all  the  known  devices,  it  continues  to  have  a 
certain  very  great  power  of  self-protection  and  self -perpetuation. 
Herein  li(?s  its  utility  to  the  vested-interest  classes. 

It  is  the  privilege  of  economic  and  social  prestige  to  set  the 
standards  of  respectability  upon  which  hinge  the  processes  of 
social  approbation  and  recognition.  Prestige  perpetuates  the 
tradition  that  the  guardianship  of  civilization  lies  in  the  middle 
and  upper  propertied  classes,  and  in  the  continuance  of  economic 


18  fikge  5 G. 


98  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

and  social  institutions  in  the  form  in  which  they  have  come 
down  to  us  from  the  past.  “The  dominant  class,”  says  Ross, 
“through  the  thousand  channels  it  controls,  always  propagates 
the  idea  that  social  distinctions  have  originated  in  differences  in 
personal  capacity  and  virtue  and  that  they  owe  nothing  to 
crime,  fraud,  corruption,  favoritism,  or  privilege.”17 

It  is  interesting  to  remember  in  this  connection  that  the  word 
“prestige”  formerly  meant  “delusion,”  and  was  originally 
derived  from  the  Latin  praestigiae,  jugglers’  tricks. 

The  effectiveness  of  the  prestige  of  the  privileged  and  vested- 
interest  classes  varies  inversely  with  the  informedness  and 
enlightenment  of  the  other  classes.  The  more  ignorant  and 
superstitious  a  class,  the  more  it  is  impressed  with  the  outward 
show  and  trappings  of  putative  greatness,  the  more  credulous 
it  will  be  of  jugglers’  tricks,  and  the  less  able  to  recognize  the 
real  merit  of  individuals  and  institutions. 

This  latter  fact  is  what  makes  revolutions  so  costly.  Igno¬ 
rance  and  credulity,  dangerous  as  they  are  to  civilization,  are 
the  products  of  poverty  and  lack  of  opportunity.  “The  abjectly 
poor,”  as  Veblen  says,  “and  all  those  persons  whose  energies 
are  absorbed  by  the  struggle  for  daily  sustenance  are  conserva¬ 
tive  because  they  cannot  afford  the  effort  of  taking  thought  for 
the  day  after  to-morrow.”  18  Upon  the  poor,  plays  from  one  side 
the  glamorous  light  of  fine  living,  which  they  neither  understand 
nor  hope  to  attain,  but  which  impresses  them  with  a  sort  of 
transcendental  prestige,  and  from  the  other  side  play  the  hopes 
and  hatreds  engendered  by  emotional  radicalism.  This  glamour 
of  wealth  and  leisure,  these  fierce  invectives  against  capitalism, 
exploitation,  and  the  leisure  class,  and  the  beatific  pictures  of 
the  future  social  state  drawn  by  imaginative  Utopians  have  a 
greater  appeal  to  the  working  classes  than  they  would  have, 
had  prestige,  on  one  side,  not  elevated  wealth  into  an  end  in 
itself,  and  history,  on  the  other,  not  infected  manual  labor  with 
the  taint  of  servile  status. 

From  one  reason  and  another,  probably  because  it  was  during 
long  periods  of  history  performed  only  by  women  and  chattel 
slaves,  and  hence  came  to  be  regarded  not  only  as  tiresome  and 

17  Principles  of  Sociology,  1920,  p.  237.  See  also  pp.  340,  341  of  the 
same  work. 

18  The  Theory  of  the  Leisure  Class ,  1899,  p.  204. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


99 


dirty,  but  as  an  indication,  if  not  of  servitude,  at  least  of  a 
subservient  position,  manual  labor  is  still  regarded  as  a  badge 
of  inferior  social  status  if  not  of  inferior  native  worth.  The 
phrase  “self-respecting  workman”  is  a  subtle  though  uncon¬ 
scious  suggestion  of  this  valuation.  People  consequently  avoid 
manual  work  if  they  can  do  so,  prize  leisure,  which  is  an  indica¬ 
tion  of  freedom  from  the  necessity  of  working,  and  seek  those 
occupations  which  suggest  leisure,  and  in  which  at  least  the 
evidences  of  toil  and  subordination  can  be  effectively  washed 
away  or  disguised  in  non-working  hours.  To  the  horny-handed 
son  of  toil  this  is  not  possible.  The  fairly  well-paid  sales  girl 
may  be  indistinguishable,  in  the  subway  or  on  the  street,  from 
the  well-to-do  mistress  of  the  suburban  home.  But  the  industrial 
worker  or  the  bronzed  farmer  of  the  plains  knows  no  disguise. 
Hence  the  shop  girl  looks  down  on  the  factory  girl,  and  Zenith 
draws  an  ever-swelling  tide  of  young  men  and  women  from 
Gopher  Prairie  and  the  rural  districts.  Leisure,  freedom  from 
dirty  and  irksome  work,  rests  largely  upon  the  possession  of 
income-yielding  wealth.  Here  then  is  another  reason  why 
vested-interest  conservatism  seeks  to  perpetuate  the  eighteenth 
century  ideal  of  self-help  and  the  devil  take  the  hindmost.  The 
task,  on  the  one  hand,  of  extolling  the  dignity  of  manual  toil 
and  the  duty  of  the  self-respecting  workman  to  be  content  with 
his  lot,  and  on  the  other  hand,  of  applauding  the  individual 
who,  drawn  by  the  prestige  of  wealth  and  the  comfort  of  leisure, 
“rises  above  his  class”  and  thereby  demonstrates  that  he  “has 
good  stuff  in  him,”  is  a  delicate  one,  but  one  not  beyond  the 
casuistic  capacity  of  many  vested-interest  conservatives.  In 
part,  the  maintenance  of  leisure-class  prestige  rests  upon  this 
welcoming  of  the  exceptional  emergent  individual,  and  upon 
the  concomitant  perpetuation  of  the  tradition — whether  true  or 
fictional  does  not  here  matter — that  those  who  do  not  rise  in 
the  world  are  lacking  in  sense,  thrift,  industry,  and  loyalty. 

Unfortunately,  few  people  are  impersonal  enough  in  their 
attitudes  or  disinterested  enough  in  material  ways,  to  accept 
the  idea  of  full,  free,  and  informed  discussion  of  social  and 
economic  problems.  Usually,  someone  wants  to  bar  the  discus¬ 
sion  of  certain  topics,  and  frequently  animosities  and  recrimina¬ 
tions  arise  in  what  should  be  impersonal  and  objective  exchange 
of  evidentially  supported  opinions.  Even  the  “open  forums” 


100  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

established  here  and  there  in  the  larger  cities  and  dedicated  to 
such  an  objective,  have  not  been  entirely  free  from  difficulties 
of  this  kind. 

There  are  two  sorts  of  personal  or  subjective  influence  upon 
discussion  and  argument.  The  first  is  in  the  nature  of  uncon¬ 
scious  bias  and  predilection.  Every  individual  believes,  to  some 
extent,  what  he  wants  to  believe.  While  it  is  one  of  the  prin¬ 
ciples  of  good  debating  to  understand  the  case  of  the  opposition 
as  well  as  you  understand  your  own,  the  accepted  morals  of 
public  discussion  leave  it  to  the  opposition  to  state  its  own  case, 
even  though  it  be  done  in  what  you  know  to  be  a  poor  and 
inadequate  manner.  (More  than  that,  as  we  have  seen,  instances 
are  frequent  in  which  the  “public”  at  the  time  in  control  will 
not  allow  the  opposition  to  state  its  case  in  any  manner.)  The 
second  kind  of  personal  influence  is  more  positive,  still  more 
vicious,  and  can  be  classed  only  as  a  form  of  dishonesty.  It 
consists  of  skilled  special  pleading,  claptrap,  chicanery,  drawing 
red  herrings  across  the  trail  of  inquiry,  purposely  confusing 
issues,  maliciously  and  mendaciously  misrepresenting  the  other 
side,  calling  names,  and  appealing  to  unreasoning  sentiment  by 
adroitly  conceived  shibboleths,  slogans,  and  “principles.” 

Whenever  the  issue  between  conservatism  and  radicalism  is 
sharply  joined  in  a  real  conflict  of  basic  economic  or  political 
interests,  we  must  expect,  unfortunately,  to  see  the  uglier  traits 
of  human  nature  come  to  the  surface  on  both  sides.  Both 
parties  or  groups  will  make  use,  not  only  of  all  the  evidence 
and  arguments,  specious,  ad  hominem,  and  otherwise,  at  their 
disposal,  but  of  all  the  known  devices  for  intensifying  passion, 
developing  prejudice,  manipulating  sentiment,  consolidating 
loyalty,  and  preventing  objective  criticism.  Propaganda,  honest 
and  dishonest,  a  storm  of  slogans  and  misapplied  platitudes, 
fervent  appeals  to  home,  country,  and  almighty  God,  the 
passionate  shrieking  out  of  half-truths,  the  solemn  assertion  of 
things  which  every  intelligent  person  knows  to  be  untrue — in 
a  word,  maudlin  sentiment,  claptrap,  and  chicane — become 
common  weapons  on  both  sides.  Their  manner  of  use  may  be 
crude,  or  it  may  be  so  clever  and  subtle  (especially  in  the  case 
of  chicane)  as  to  deceive  all  but  the  exceptionally  well-informed 
and  critical. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


101 


It  is  well  to  remember  that  argument  or  propaganda  put  out 
by  any  special  interest,  however  plausible  it  may  sound,  or 
however  scientific  and  objective  it  may  appear  to  be,  should  be 
regarded  with  skepticism.  It  is  to  be  noted,  too,  that  vested- 
interest  propaganda  and  chicane  may  find  their  way  even  into 
the  reports  of  Congressional  committees  and  governmental 
administrative  departments.  It  would  be  interesting  to  know, 
but  probably  never  will  be  known,  to  just  what  extent  war  and 
navy  department  demands  for  huge  armaments,  in  England, 
France,  Germany,  Japan,  and  the  United  States,  have  been  due 
to  the  influence  of  armament  manufacturers.19 

It  is  difficult  to  discuss  the  claptrap  and  chicane  of  sinister 
special-interest  reactionism  without  falling  into  unintentional 
unfairness  to  the  honest  conservatism  of  honest  vested  interests 
and  the  sincere  conservatism  of  temperament,  because  all  three 
use  much  the  same  vocabulary  and  make  their  appeals  to  much 
the  same  sentiments  and  principles. 

Where,  however,  the  appeal  of  the  sincere  and  honest  conser¬ 
vative  is  to  real  principles,  that  of  the  unscrupulously  self- 
seeking  special  interests  is  to  the  names  of  popular  principles 
or  ideals,  under  which  they  can  hide  the  selfish  purposes  really 
at  stake — the  most  effective  trick  of  dressing  up  the  wolf  of 
special  interest  in  the  sheep ’s  clothing  of  whatever  ‘  ‘  principles,  ’  ’ 
shibboleths,  or  catchwords  may  be  popular  at  the  time.  The 
name  of  every  ideal  or  set  of  principles  tends  to  go  through 
some  such  degradation.  Originally  advanced  sincerely  and 
thoughtfully,  it  tends,  in  proportion  to  the  degree  to  which 
it  gains  superficial  acceptance,  to  be  repeated  in  more  and 
more  parrot-like  fashion,  and  finally  falls  prey  to  any  sin¬ 
ister  use  which  designing  selfish  interest  may  seel  fit  to  make 
of  it. 

Patriotism,  loyalty,  Christianity,  the  will  of  God,  law  and 
order,  democracy,  Americanism,  Americanization,  “the  prin¬ 
ciples  laid  down  by  the  fathers  in  the  constitution,”  the  majesty 
of  the  law,  equality  of  all  before  the  law,  free  competition, 
freedom  of  contract,  the  right  to  work,  education  for  citizenship, 

19  Much  interesting!  light  is  thrown  upon  this  question  by  J.  A.  Hob¬ 
son’s  Democracy  After  the  War,  1917,  and  by  H.  N.  Brailsford’s  The 
War  of  Steel  and  Gold,  1914. 


102  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

public  interest —these  and  many  other  names  for  ideals  or 
principles  have  been  prostituted  to  base  uses  by  unscrupulous 
private  and  group  special  privilege.20 

The  insincere  use  of  shibboleths  and  of  sentiments  dear  to 
the  popular  mind  is  much  too  extensive  to  permit  more  than 
cursory  analysis.  The  types  of  sentiment  and  of  shibboleths 
may  be  roughly  classified,  however.  They  relate  to,  or  are 
drawn  from,  (1)  legalistic  tradition  and  sentiment,  (2)  business, 
(3)  labor  relations,  (4)  politics,  (5)  religion  and  ecclesiasticism. 
Doubtless  those  sufficiently  familiar  with  art,  literature,  and 
educational  doctrine  can  find  ample  illustration  of  claptrap  in 
those  fields  also. 

The  interested  conservative  makes  much  use  of  legalistic 
ideals — when  it  suits  his  purpose  to  “have  the  law”  on  his 
progressive  or  radical  antagonist.  Industrial  corporations,  at 
the  very  time  that  they  may  be  employing  astute  lawyers  to 
show  them  how  to  evade  some  inconvenient  law,  or  inciting 
employees  to  violence,  indulge  in  much  virtuous  talk  about  “law 
and  order,”  “respect  for  the  constituted  authorities,”  “the 
sanctity  of  the  law,”  and  the  like.  Law  and  order,  it  goes 
without  saying,  are  the  necessary  condition  of  any  organized 
form  of  social  relations.  Without  order  neither  safety  nor 
achievement  is  possible.  The  philosophical  anarchist  thinks  that 
human  nature  under  complete  freedom  would  be  so  good  that 
peace,  justice,  and  co-operation  would  flow  smoothly  and  auto¬ 
matically  from  natural,  spontaneous  impulses.  But  there  are 
few,  even  among  idealistic  radicals,  who  share  this  view.  Evolu¬ 
tionary  psychology  lends  as  little  countenance  to  it  as  to  the 
opposite  doctrine  of  the  innate  depravity  of  man.  But  the 
phrase  “law  and  order”  is  so  frequently  and  so  vociferously  in 
the  mouth  of  special  interests  which  do  not  hesitate  to  evade 
the  law  or  to  set  order  at  defiance,  when  it  is  to  their  material 
profit  to  do  so,  that  this  fine  and  necessary  sentiment,  like  so 
many  other  ideals,  is  made  a  cloak  to  chicane  and  exploitation. 
It  becomes  a  shibboleth  to  be  repeated  in  parrot  fashion,  and 

20  It  is  to  be  clearly  understood  that  in  pointing  out  this  fact  no  critic¬ 
ism,  either  constructive  or  destructive,  of  the  principles  or  ideals  them¬ 
selves  is  involved.  Justly  understood  and  sincerely  applied,  they  may,  or 
may  not,  each  and  all  be  valid  and  necessary,  but  that  is  not  here  the 
question.  It  is  the  claptrap  use  of  them  to  defend  or  enhance  special 
interests  that  is  under  consideration. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


103 


applied  by  a  confiding  public  in  the  formation  of  judgment  on 
situations,  of  the  real  facts  concerning  which  it  is  in  ignorance. 
The  facts  are  particularly  hard  to  ascertain  at  those  times  when 
the  passions  run  high  in  bitter  disputes  between  employers  and 
employees.  That  violence  may  be  instigated  and  committed  by 
either  side  is  well  known.  It  is  known  also  that  the  side  which 
cries  out  most  loudly  for  “law  and  order”  is  not  always  the 
one  least  guilty  of  violating  both.  The  dispassionate  student 
of  violence  in  labor  disputes  will  be  slow  to  condone  or  to  con¬ 
demn.  He  will  get  the  facts  as  to  motives  and  actions  on  both 
sides,  as  nearly  as  he  can,  and  form  his  judgments  accordingly, 
and  where  he  cannot  get  the  facts  he  will  refrain  from  forming 
any  judgment  at  all. 

Much  could  be  said  of  the  disingenuous  sentiment  over  such 
legalistic  shibboleths  and  slogans  as  “equality  before  the  law,” 
“due  process  of  law,”  “class  legislation,”  “states’  right,”  etc., 
but  further  comment  is  unnecessary.  It  is  but  too  evident,  to 
any  observant  person  who  follows  current  industrial  and  political 
issues  and  who  occasionally  reads  the  decisions  of  the  higher 
courts  on  matters  involving  labor  legislation  and  the  legal  regu¬ 
lation  of  industry,  that  these  slogans  are  amenable  to  skillful 
use  in  special  pleading  for  vested  interests. 

The  great  antithesis  to  law  and  order  is  war.  And  most 
modern  wars  are  held  on  good  evidence  to  be  due  usually  to  a 
conflict  of  special  commercial  concession-hunting,  profit-seeking 
interests.  War  may  be  brought  on  by  international  commercial 
rivalry  without  direct  design.  International  violence  may  also 
be  instigated  by  special  interests.  “Trade  follows  the  flag.”  It 
may  be  the  “manifest  destiny”  of  one  nation  to  invade  the 
sovereignty  of  another,  and  the  public  may  adroitly  be  led  to 
support  a  war  of  commercial  exploitation  under  the  sincere 
belief  that  it  is  fighting  for  that  as  yet  unsatisfactorily  defined 
thing,  “national  honor.”  There  have  not  been  lacking,  for 
instance,  business  interests  and  powerful  metropolitan  news¬ 
papers  to  preach  law  and  order  at  home  and  at  the  same  time 
argue  that  the  United  States  army  should  go  in  and  “clean  up” 
Mexico.  How  much  indignation  at  the  killing  of  American 
citizens  who  took  the  risk  of  remaining  in  Mexico  during  a  period 
of  successive  revolutions,  and  how  much  the  existence  in  Mexico 
of  vast  exploitable  oil,  mining,  lumber,  and  ranching  resources 


104  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

have  to  do  with  this  ethics,  we  need  not  here  attempt  to  say. 
The  life  of  an  American  in  Mexico,  however,  seems  to  be  worth 
more  than  the  life  of  a  Mexican  in  the  United  States. 

This  sort  of  dualistic  ethics  is  not  limited  to  commercial  and 
labor  interests  or  to  sentiments  with  regard  to  international 
relations.  “ Lynch  law”  and  mob  violence  constitute  another 
striking  illustration.  In  the  South  fervent  appeals  to  reverence 
for  the  law  and  eulogies  of  the  law-abiding  citizen  are  not  less 
frequent  than  in  the  North,  though  they  probably  display  a 
higher  average  of  flowery  rhetoric.  Yet  both  North  and  South 
are  theaters  of  mob  violence,  of  lynching  bees,  of  orgies  of 
revengeful  bestiality  which  too  few  of  the  “ leading  citizens” 
ever  condemn — or  even  refer  to — and  which  indeed  are  some¬ 
times  led  by  some  of  the  men  who  in  their  saner  and  more  human 
moods  are  full  of  much  oratory  about  the  majesty  of  the  law. 
The  pinnacle  of  this  sort  of  regard  for  “law  and  order”  is 
reached  in  the  Ku  Klux  Klan.  It  would  be  an  enlightening 
study  in  psychology  could  we  really  determine  the  ratio  of 
honest  conviction  to  simple  mendacity  and  gullibility  in  the 
membership  of  the  Klan,  which  has  repeatedly,  with  an  air  of 
outraged  virtue,  tried  to  make  the  public  believe  that  it  stands 
for  the  upholding  of  the  law. 

Touching  on  issues  involving  proposals  for  a  less  archaic  and 
legalistic  interpretation  of  the  United  States  Constitution  or 
for  the  revision  of  the  fundamental  law  embodied  therein,  we 
have  much  sentimental  appeal  to  the  eternal  verities,  especially 
for  “reverence  for  that  incomparable  document,  the  United 
States  Constitution,  which  in  their  God-given  wisdom  the  fathers 
drafted  and  bequeathed  to  posterity.”  There  is  of  course  no 
hint  that  the  Constitution  itself  was  the  result  of  a  compromise 
between  contending  material  interests  or  that  the  men  who 
framed  it  had  personal  prejudices  and  interests,  class  view¬ 
points,  and  sectional  biases.  Nor  is  there  any  recognition  of  the 
fact  that  no  generation  possesses  all  wisdom  or  that  there  may 
be  a  few  men  to-day  comparable  in  insight,  public  spirit,  and 
statesmanship  with  the  fathers,  nor  again  of  the  fact  that  the 
Constitution  has  come  through  a  century  and  a  quarter  of 
Supreme  Court  interpretation  (besides  various  popular  emenda¬ 
tions)  which  has  so  changed  its  meaning  that  the  fathers  might 
have  difficulty  in  recognizing  it.  This  appeal  to  the  Constitution 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


105 


as  if  it  were  a  changeless  set  of  first  principles,  where  sincere, 
is  indication  of  a  curious  pessimism,  for  it  betrays  a  belief  that 
constructive  political  and  legal  wisdom  reached  a  glorious 
apotheosis  in  the  period  of  Alexander  Hamilton  and  James 
Madison,  and  then  declined,  until  to-day  we  do  not  know  enough 
to  fit  fundamental  law  to  our  own  generation’s  needs. 

Whether  appeal  to  reverence  for  the  Constitution  is  sincere 
or  insincere,  it  is  an  appeal  which  relies  for  effectiveness  not  on 
critical  judgment  but  on  the  well-recognized  popular  sentimen¬ 
tal  proclivity  to  revere  the  archaic.  It  is  another  phase  of  the 
ancient  habit  of  appealing  to  the  elders.  Too  frequently  such 
appeals  betray  either  a  futile  desire  to  stay  the  moving  hand 
of  time  or  an  inability  to  see  that  the  men  of  one  age  cannot 
possibly  foresee  the  problems  and  needs  which  will  be  encoun¬ 
tered  by  the  generations  to  come.  That  men  of  the  period  in 
which  Adam  Smith’s  Wealth  of  Nations  and  Rousseau’s  Social 
Contract  were  the  last  word  in  economics  and  political  philos¬ 
ophy  could  lay  down  a  body  of  fundamental  law  which  would 
continue  to  meet  the  requirements  of  a  world  so  full  of  rapid 
change,  of  industrial  development,  and  of  dynamic  energy  as 
the  Western  World  has  been  since  the  eighteenth  century  is  an 
amazing  proposition.  Yet  reactionaries  and  vested-interest 
conservatives  are  able  to  propound  it  with  straight  faces. 

Cant  and  humbug  and  pose  are  to  be  found  in  all  profes¬ 
sions  and  all  classes.  But  they  are  perhaps  most  characteristic 
of  the  business  world.  This  is  due  primarily  to  the  fact  that 
under  law  and  sentiment,  developed  through  long  periods  of 
materialistic  individualism,  business  has  become  a  field  staked 
out  with  a  multitude  of  ramifying,  interlacing  special  privileges 
and  legalized  vested  rights,  many  of  them  detrimental  to  social 
welfare,  but  defended  by  their  possessors  and  beneficiaries  with 
every  means  in  their  power. 

The  slogan  “ Don’t  injure  business!”  can  be  heard  through¬ 
out  the  land,  in  wartime  and  peacetime,  in  prosperity  and  in 
depression,  but  most  clamorously  when  business  interests  are 
threatened,  or  seem  to  business  men  to  be  threatened  (there  is 
a  real  distinction),  by  legislative  or  administrative  reform. 

This  is  natural  enough.  The  business  men  and  their  retainers, 
the  lawyers,  regard  themselves  as  “the  public.”  In  the  indus¬ 
trial  States  of  the  Northeast  and  even  in  the  agricultural  regions 


106  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

of  the  South  and  West,  the  real  control  of  government  is  com¬ 
monly  in  the  hands  of  these  two  allied  groups.  Under  such 
conditions  it  is  entirely  natural  that  the  primary  function  of 
government  should  be  considered  not  only  as  the  time-honored 
“ protection  of  private  property”  but  the  protection  of  particu¬ 
lar  vested  interests,  business  organization,  and  business  ideals 
as  they  are.  Under  the  external  form  of  geographical  represen¬ 
tation,  there  is  really  a  significant  element  of  business  sovietism, 
for  the  business  men  take  care  that  individuals  friendly  to  their 
interests  are  elected  to  office,  and  in  addition  spare  no  expense 
for  the  maintenance  of  skilled  lobbies.  Were  labor  in  substan¬ 
tial  control  of  government,  as  business  now  is,  it  is  likely  that 
the  point  of  view  prevalent  in  town  councils,  legislatures,  and 
Congress  would  be  that  of  labor  almost  exclusively,  and  that 
the  chief  purpose  of  government  would  be  conceived  to  be  the 
protection  of  the  worker  and  the  advancement  of  wages. 
“Labor”  would  be  made  an  end  in  itself;  the  slogan  would  be 
“Don’t  injure  labor!”  The  general  public  welfare — inclusive 
of  all  classes — would  be  made  secondary,  although  there  would 
be  as  much  talk  about  it  as  there  is  now. 

Actually,  the  facts  are  very  much  the  reverse.  “Business,” 
being  in  control,  though  not  indeed  without  powerful  opposition 
on  the  part  of  the  agricultural  and  labor  interests,  more  or  less 
consciously  regards  labor — including  the  farmer — as  a  means 
to  business  “prosperity.”  And  prosperity  is  generally  con¬ 
ceived  as  rising  prices  and  high  profits.  Profits  are  the  business 
man’s  standard  of  measuring  “public  welfare.”  Any  change 
which  may  conceivably  involve  a  reduction  of  dividends,  or 
subject  to  criticism  the  current  ideals  and  practices  of  business, 
is  pilloried  as  dangerously  perversive  of  law  and  order  and  the 
cherished  foundations  of  our  free  government. 

Business  men  during  the  nineteenth  century — at  slightly  dif¬ 
ferent  periods  in  different  countries — had  to  fight  the  landed 
aristocracy  for  control  of  the  legislative  function  in  government. 
In  this  country  they  have  had  control  ever  since  the  framing  of 
the  Constitution.21  But  with  the  spread  of  education,  the  de¬ 
velopment  of  strong  groups  of  organized  labor,  and  in  this 

21  Cf.  Charles  A.  Beard,  An  Economic  Interpretation  of  the  Constitu¬ 
tion  of  the  United  States,  1913,  and  J.  H.  Smith,  The  Spirit  of  American 
Government,  1907. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


107 


country  the  growth  of  a  very  numerous  class  of  farm  owners 
and  farm  renters  who  on  the  whole  are  more  and  more  adding 
their  force  to  that  of  labor,  the  business  control  of  government 
is  seriously  disputed.  Business  men  in  politics,  with  the  narrow 
business  tradition  ingrained  in  their  nature,  and  too  frequently 
with  economic  axes  of  their  own  to  grind,  find  themselves  con¬ 
fronted  not  only  with  a  new  level  of  general  public  sentiment 
but  with  the  unpleasant  pressure  of  a  none  too  polite  and 
not  too  modest  democracy  of  work  people  and  progressive 
farmers.  When  these  interests  become  strong  enough  to 
threaten  control,  or  actually  for  a  time  secure  control,  the 
business  world  invariably  sends  out  its  S.  0.  S.  call — “  Don’t 
injure  business.  ” 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  the  appeal  is  telling,  and  at  times 
necessary.  For  as  long  as  the  process  of  producing  wealth  is 
organized  on  the  basis  of  private,  or  corporate,  responsibility 
no  one  but  an  extreme  radical  who  feels  that  anything,  even  a 
general  crash  of  the  social  structure,  is  better  than  the  present 
waste  and  injustice,  will  be  blind  enough  not  to  see  that  when 
business  men  find  production  unprofitable  and  have  to  run  their 
plants  at  a  loss,  everybody  suffers — and  the  laborer  most  of  all. 
Consequently  the  business  world  is  in  a  strategic  position,  able 
to  call  itself  the  goose  that  lays  the  golden  egg. 

But  business  has  a  habit  of  crying  before  it  is  hurt,  and  those 
business  organizations  most  inimical  to  real  public  welfare  are 
normally  the  first  and  the  loudest  in  their  condemnatory  pro¬ 
tests.  Not  the  least  evil  flowing  from  this  habit  is  that  the 
uninitiated  public,  and  even  business  itself,  cannot  always 
clearly  distinguish  between  a  real  danger  to  legitimate  business, 
and  an  imaginary  one. 

A  common  form  of  the  “injury  to  business”  bugaboo  is  the 
cry  that  reform  legislation  will  drive  business  to  another  State. 
This  argument  has  probably  been  more  instrumental  in  the 
defeat  of  salutary  labor  legislation  than  any  other  one  plea. 
Time  and  again  child  labor  bills,  workingmen’s  compensation 
bills,  bills  regulating  hours  and  conditions  of  work,  providing 
for  safety  devices,  etc.,  have  gone  down  to  defeat  when  some 
employers’  association  or  some  corporation  lobbyist  started  the 
cry  “Do  you  want  to  drive  industry  out  of  this  State!”  The 
average  uninformed  legislator,  having  himself  the  narrow  busi- 


108  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

ness  point  of  view,  and  deficient  in  a  sense  of  social  ethics, 
regarded  this  as  convincing  argument  against  the  bill. 

The  legislator,  and  doubtless  to  a  certain  extent  his  constitu¬ 
ents  back  of  him,  thus  stand  under  the  charge  of  motivation  by 
local  selfishness.  They  would  rather  have  the  industry,  with  all 
its  evils,  in  their  State  than  by  cleaning  it  up  run  the  risk  of 
driving  it  elsewhere.  There  is  a  certain  blindness  in  this  atti¬ 
tude;  for  the  people  rarely  stop  to  examine  critically  the  claim 
that  industry  would  migrate,  or  to  consider  what  existing  condi¬ 
tions — supply  of  raw  material  and  labor,  transportation  facili¬ 
ties,  and  markets — may  make  it  practically  impossible  for  a 
whole  industry,  or  even  a  given  concern,  to  move.  In  other 
words,  vested  interests  have  long  since  learned  the  secret  of 
stampeding  public  sentiment  by  appeal  to  the  selfish  material 
interests  of  individuals,  and  to  inherited  sentimental  prejudices, 
while  the  intelligent  public  at  large  is  only  just  beginning  to 
develop  defenses  against  this  sinister  use  of  crowd  psychology. 

Another  cry  of  vested  business  interests  is  that  industry  can¬ 
not  stand  the  added  cost  of  reform.  Opposition  to  minimum 
wage  legislation,  to  prohibition  of  child  labor,  etc.,  not  infre¬ 
quently  features  this  plea.  That  the  added  cost,  if  any,  can 
usually  be  shifted  to  the  consumer  is  overlooked;  that  profits 
may  be  high  enough  to  allow  the  business  prosperous  continu¬ 
ance  without  raising  prices  to  the  consumer  is  never  for  a  mo¬ 
ment  admitted ;  to  read  the  manufacturer  ’  pleas  one  would  sup¬ 
pose  that  all  business  is  carried  on  under  a  regime  of  cutthroat 
competition,  with  every  concern  on  the  verge  of  collapse.  There 
are  beyond  doubt  cases  and  perhaps  whole  industries  in  which 
additional  costs  cannot  with  justice,  be  forced  upon  employers 
without  permitting  and  expecting  them  to  shift  the  extra  charge 
to  the  consumers.  But  in  many  cases  the  cry  that  business  can¬ 
not  stand  the  increased  cost  is  both  false  and  insincere.  More¬ 
over,  as  the  advocates  of  minimum  wage  legislation  consistently 
reiterate,  if  an  industry  is  so  precarious  in  its  hold  upon  the 
public  demand  that  it  cannot  run  without  hiring  child  labor 
and  without  paying  starvation  wages,  that  industry  should  go 
out  of  business.  The  people  who  buy  its  products,  yet  who 
would  be  unwilling  to  pay  a  price  sufficient  to  give  the  workers 
a  living  wage  and  the  employer  a  fair  profit,  are  not  paying 
their  way:  they  are  in  a  sense  objects  of  charity,  for  the  laborers 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


109 


are  donating  work  to  them  for  which  there  is  no  adequate 
payment.  But  this  is  a  point  of  view  beyond  the  powers  of 
comprehension  of  the  average  business  man  or  corporation 
lawyer. 

Captains  of  industry  are  no  doubt  often  sincere  in  their  pre¬ 
mature  warnings  of  impending  injury.  Business  is  proverbially 
timid,  and  it  would  be  unjust  to  think  that  the  hue  and  cry 
against  reform  legislation  is  always  raised  merely  to  protect 
unsocial  and  uneconomical  privilege;  but  society  at  large  cannot 
afford  to  overlook  the  fact  that  the  interests  of  any  class  are 
likely  to  be  exaggerated  by  the  members  of  that  class,  and  that 
the  more  prestige  and  power  a  class  has  in  governmental  affairs, 
the  better  is  its  position  to  impress  unthinking  people  at  large 
with  the  sanctity  and  inviolability  of  its  “rights.” 

Another  business  slogan,  in  prominent  use  of  late,  is  the  senti¬ 
ment  with  regard  to  every  man’s  right  to  run  his  business  as  he 
sees  fit.  Probably  few,  if  any,  progressive  laws  limiting  the 
power  of  business  men  to  run  business  as  they  please,  from 
the  first  English  child  labor  act  in  1802  to  the  Interstate  Com¬ 
merce  Commission  Act  of  1887,  and  the  minimum  wage  legis¬ 
lation  of  recent  years,  could  be  found  to  which  a  large  number, 
if  not  the  majority,  of  business  men,  individually  and  by 
collective  organization,  have  not  made  more  or  less  bitter  oppo¬ 
sition. 

Those  who  have  power  which  can  be  used  for  private  ends 
nearly  always  oppose  any  diminution  of  that  power,  ostensibly 
because  they  hold  such  diminution  to  be  derogatory  to  public 
interest,  but  really  because  they  do  not  want  to  give  up,  whether 
in  the  public  interest  or  not,  any  power  or  privilege.  This  is 
the  real  secret  of  the  sentiment  about  “the  right  to  run  your 
own  business  in  your  own  way”  without  “interference”  from 
“meddlesome”  governmental  agencies,  or  associations  of  work¬ 
ingmen.  Society,  however,  is  coming  to  see  that  no  such  un¬ 
restricted  right  can  be  permitted,  and  progressive  business  men 
are  willingly  recognizing  that  fact. 

The  same  motivation  by  self  interest  is  seen  in  the  favorite 
business  slang  “Don’t  knock,  boost!”  and  in  the  aversion  to 
criticism  of  business  practices  or  to  the  calling  of  attention  to 
shortcomings  of  local  government  or  local  public  utilities  which 
it  reveals.  This  “  don  ’t-knock-boost,  ”  ostrich-like  habit  of  hid- 


110  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

ing  your  head  in  the  sand  in  an  attempt  to  ignore  facts  uncom¬ 
plimentary  to  your  town  or  city,  which  if  published,  are  likely 
to  reduce  trade  and  “ scare  people  away,”  was  formerly  very 
prevalent  among  chambers  of  commerce  and  like  organizations, 
but  is  said  to  be  becoming  less  so.  Still,  very  few  real  estate 
dealers — who  are  a  class  commonly  influential  in  the  average 
American  town — like  it  to  become  known  that  the  local  water 
supply  is  infected  with  colon  bacilli,  or  that  the  school  system 
is  backward. 

Of  course,  the  greater  part  of  the  insincerity  of  business-in¬ 
terest  conservatism  is  not  reducible  to  catch  phrases.  There 
is,  for  instance,  a  fixed  and  constant  pressure  of  propaganda  to 
discredit  progressive  movements  of  any  kind,  if  they  seem  likely 
to  have  any  adverse  effect  on  profits  or  funded  incomes,  to  limit 
monopoly  power,  to  strengthen  labor,  or  to  give  greater  regu¬ 
lative  power  to  the  people  through  governmental  ownership  and 
operation  of  public  utilities.  Some  of  this  propaganda  is  fair 
and  sincere.  Much  of  it  is  insincere  and  unscrupulously  and 
willfully  misrepresentative.22  Partly  because  “business”  has 
inherited  the  individualistic  laissez  faire  sentiment  from  English 
classical  political  philosophy  and  from  frontier  conditions  in 
America,  but  more  because  of  conscious  self-  and  class-interest, 
‘  ‘  the  commercial  class  has  long  played  upon  a  popular  suspicion 
and  jealousy  of  government  inherited  from  the  eighteenth  cen¬ 
tury  when  government  was  an  alien  arbitrary  agency  over 
which  the  commonalty  had  no  effective  control.”23  One  of  the 
most  common  devices  to  this  end  is  to  exaggerate  the  incompe¬ 
tence  and  wastefulness  of  governmental  operations  and  to  main¬ 
tain  a  judicious  silence  as  to  incompetence  and  waste  in  the 
private  corporate  conduct  of  business. 

To-day  the  greatest  chicane,  the  loudest  claptrap,  the  most 
passionately  unscrupulous  vituperative  propaganda  are  associ¬ 
ated  with  the  labor  conflict.  Ample  illustration  can  be  found  on 

22  To  analyze  this  unscrupulous  propaganda  would  require  volumes. 
Instances  can,  however,  he  found  everywhere.  See,  for  example,  the 
publicity  work  of  the  steel  companies  during  the  strike  of  1919  (see 
Interchurch  World  Movement,  Report  on  the  Steel  Strike),  the  propa¬ 
ganda  of  the  railway  and  business  interests  against  the  Federal  Rail¬ 
way  Administration  in  1918  and  1919,  and  the  literature  of  banking 
journals  against  the  postal  savings  system. 

23  Ross,  Principles  of  Sociology,  1920,  p.  505. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


111 


both  sides,  but  there  is  not  lacking  evidence  that  labor,  as  it 
has  gained  coherence  and  a  reserve  of  income  usable  for  its 
collective  ends,  is  turning,  at  least  in  Great  Britain  and  the 
United  States,  more  and  more  to  inductive  statistical  research 
to  prove  its  case,  while  the  business  interests  are  tempted  to 
passionate  denunciation  and  reliance  upon  their  ability 
thereby  to  hold  public  sentiment  to  the  side  of  the  employing 
class. 

In  this  third  group  or  field  of  social  relations,  shibboleths  and 
slogans  play  an  important  role.  “The  right  of  every  man  to 
work”  is  a  sentiment  more  frequently  in  the  mouth  of  the  em¬ 
ployer  than  in  that  of  the  worker.  Curiously,  the  employer 
is  more  likely  to  express  this  sentiment  at  times  when  profits 
are  low,  demand  for  product  slack,  and  unemployment  rife.  At 
such  times  it  would  seem  that  it  is  regarded  as  the  right  of 
every  man  to  close  down  his  plant  without  notice  and  that  this 
right  is  paramount  to  any  vested  interest  which  in  other  junc¬ 
tures  the,  workingman  may  theoretically  be  implied  to  have  in 
a  job.24  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is  well  recognized  that  “the 
right  to  work,”  under  a  system  in  which  capital  is  organized 
into  huge  corporations,  and  employers  into  manufacturers’  asso¬ 
ciations,  but  the  workers  left  unorganized  and  with  no  recourse 
except  to  individual  bargaining,  is  illusory.  It  is  merely  another 
name  for  the  necessity  of  accepting  whatever  wage  and  working 
conditions  the  employer  may  see  fit  to  grant.  Those  who  oppose 
collective  bargaining  on  the  pious  ground  that  it  interferes  with 
the  individual  laborer’s  right  to  work  are  less  honest  than  those 
who  oppose  it  frankly  on  the  real  ground  that  it  may  reduce 
profits  and  always  means  limitation  on  the  employer’s  practise 
of  running  the  business  to  suit  his  own  love  of  unrestrained 
autocracy.25 

24  Here  again  fairness  demands  that  cognizance  be  taken  of  the  fact 
that  some  more  enlightened  and  far-seeing  employers  are  beginning  to 
think  constructively  of  methods  by  which  the  heavy  burden  of  commer¬ 
cial  depression,  slack  demand,  and  unemployment  may  be  removed  from 
the  worker,  or  at  least  greatly  reduced.  See,  for  example,  Henry  S. 
Dennison,  “Depression  Insurance ;  A  Suggestion  to  Corporations  for 
Reducing  Unemployment.”  American  Labor  Legislation  Review ,  March, 
1922,  pp.  31-36. 

25  The  reader  may  analyze  for  himself  the  phraseology  and  meaning 
of  the  following  open  shop  advertisement  which  appeared  in  the  Dallas 
IsTews,  January  23,  1922. 


112 


conservatism,  radicalism 

In  the  courts  this  right  to  work  is  commonly  referred  to  under 
the  rubric  “ freedom  of  contract” — but  freedom  of  contract  in 
labor  cases  means  in  the  mouths  of  judges  trained  in  the  laissez 
faire,  individualistic  business  tradition,  in  point  of  fact  essen- 


THE  OPEN  SHOP  WORKINGMAN’S 
DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE 

I  claim  the  right  to  dispose  of  my  time  and  skill  in  a  manner 
that  will  be  most  advantageous  to  myself  and  on  terms  satisfac¬ 
tory  to  my  employer. 

I  protest  against  any  attempts  to  abridge  my  right  to  work 
uninterruptedly  or  to  deter  me  from  sustaining  myself  and 
family  in  honor  and  respectability. 

I  hold  that  outside  of  my  employer  no  one  has  the  right  to 
demand  that  I  discontinue  my  employment  without  my  distinct 
sanction  and  approval. 

I  claim  protection  against  any  act  of  annoyance,  coercion  or 
intimidation  aimed  at  me  because  I  refuse  to  subject  myself 
to  those  whose  authority  I  do  not  recognize. 

I  insist  that  in  keeping  with  the  American  spirit  I  have  the 
right  to  choose  my  own  affiliations  whether  in  church,  lodge, 
labor  or  society. 

I  refuse  to  associate  myself  wTith  any  organizations  that  de¬ 
mand  rights,  privileges,  concessions  or  exemptions  not  granted 
to  all  citizens. 

I  stand  unqualifiedly  against  any  attempt  to  make  of  me  a  tool 
in  the  hands  of  agitators  for  accomplishment  of  their  selfish 
ends. 

I  shall  not  engage  in  any  activities  aimed  at  my  fellow- 
toilers  which  will  deprive  them  of  the  right  to  work  upon  terms 
and  conditions  with  which  they  are  satisfied. 

I  resent  the  suggestion  that  I  should  limit  my  daily  output 
or  reduce  my  efficiency  or  in  any  way  fail  to  give  an  honest 
day’s  work  for  a  full  day’s  pay. 

I  maintain  that  to  create  misunderstanding  or  friction  be¬ 
tween  my  employer  and  myself  is  to  destroy  all  wholesome 
ends ;  that  it  benefits  neither  him  nor  myself  and  is  against  all 
public  interest. 

I  stand  for  absolute  freedom  in  thought  and  action,  consistent 
with  laws  of  our  land  and  resent  the  unsolicited  intervention  of 
any  man  or  combination  of  men,  who,  as  a  minority,  arrogate  to 
themselves  the  authority  to  speak  and  act  in  the  name  of  the 
workingmen  of  America. 

I  declare  for  loyalty  of  the  average  workingman,  the  man  who 
actually  toils. 

If  you  need  skilled  mechanics  or  help  of  any  kind 
Y  3985  CALL  X  5425 

(Seal)  DALLAS  OPEN  SHOP  (SQUARE  DEAL) 

Association  of  the 
Chamber  of  Commerce 
“Itfs  in  Dallas ” — Open  Shop 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


113 


tially  just  what  “the  right  to  work”  means  in  the  master-and- 
servant  ethics  of  the  capitalist  employer — the  “freedom”  to 
sign  whatever  sort  of  labor  contract  the  employer  may  see  fit 
to  present  as  a  condition  to  employment. 

It  is  not  meant  to  imply,  of  course,  that  all  advocacy  of  free¬ 
dom  of  contract  and  the  right  to  work  partakes  of  the  nature 
of  disingenuous  claptrap  or  chicane.  Some  of  it  is  mere  doc¬ 
trinaire  tradition  unthinkingly  learned  in  the  law  schools  and 
elementary  courses  in  economics,  and  perpetuated  by  habit  in 
the  general  population.  It  is  possible  to  hold,  of  course,  as 
many  radicals  do  hold  and  many  thinking  liberals  are  coming 
to  hold,  that  once  society  permits  an  individual  to  come  into 
existence  the  duty  should  devolve  upon  it  of  finding  him 
place  and  means  of  earning  a  living,  but  this  fundamental, 
social-obligation  aspect  of  the  matter  does  not  appear  in  the 
current  business  attitude.  That  attitude  is  that  the  worker 
is  entitled  to  a  job,  under  free,  individual  contract,  if  he 
c.an  get  one.  The  obligation  to  supply  jobs  is  but  imperfectly 
felt. 

There  is  also  much  disingenuousness  in  the  charges  against 
labor  for  “restricting  output,”  “limiting  production,”  “sol¬ 
diering  on  the  job,”  and  in  general  for  profiteering  and  failure 
to  deliver  “a  day’s  work  for  day’s  pay.”  In  all  this  there  is 
the  implication  that  only  the  employer  is  to  be  the  judge  of 
what  a  day ’s  work  for  a  day ’s  pay  is.  There  is  also  the  flagrant 
misimplication  that  business  concerns  never  limit  output  and 
restrict  supply  by  shutting  down  plants,  suppressing  progressive 
inventions,  and  by  other  methods,  when  it  will  enhance  profits 
to  do  so. 

During  periods  of  “industrial  unrest,”  that  is,  periods  in 
which  labor  feels  powerful  enough  collectively  to  push  claims 
for  better  wages,  better  working  conditions,  collective  bargain¬ 
ing,  and  perhaps,  as  at  present,  some  share  in  industrial  man¬ 
agement,  “unrest”  itself  becomes  a  term  of  opprobrium  in  the 
mouth  of  the  average  conservative  business  man.  There  is  al¬ 
ways  unrest  among  those  who  do  the  manual  toil  of  the  world, 
but  it  is  only  when  it  becomes  articulate,  organized,  and  col¬ 
lective,  and  hence  begins  to  have  power,  that  interested  con¬ 
servatism  condemns  it.  Whgn  it  appears  only  in  relatively 
sporadic  and  isolated  cases  it  is  praised,  as  evidence  of  thrift, 


114  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

ambition,  and  desire  to  improve  one’s  condition  or  to  rise  above 
one’s  class. 

When  unrest  becomes  effective  in  stimulating  demands  for 
general  improvement  in  the  position  of  the  working  classes,  the 
vested  interests  can  find  no  condemnatory  word  too  strong.  It 
becomes  socialism,  bolshevism,  communism,  anarchism,  disloy¬ 
alty;  it  is  aimed  at  overthrowing  all  law  and  order,  at  under¬ 
mining  the  foundations  of  Americanism,  and  destroying  civiliz¬ 
ation.  It  is  chiefly  the  result  of  the  diabolical  machinations  of 
irresponsible  and  self-seeking  “agitators,”  who  are  nearly  all 
anarchiste  or  “reds”  in  the  employ  of  the  Russian  government, 
men  without  scruple  or  education,  “ignorant  foreigners”  who 
have  come  to  this  country  to  enjoy  our  free  institutions,  and 
now  set  about  to  destroy  them.26 

Even  in  normal  times  the  able  and  courageous  people  who 
have  revealed,  not  infrequently  with  all  the  paraphernalia  of 
weighty  if  not  indisputable  evidence,  gross  evils,  dishonesty, 
and  efficiency  in  our  governmental  and  economic  processes,  have 
been  attacked  and  held  up  to  scorn  as  ‘  ‘  hare-brained  reformers,  ’  ’ 
and  “theorists.”  Witness  the  hue  and  cry  against  the  “muck 
rakers”  of  the  late  1890 ’s  and  early  1900’s,  the  denunciations 
and  misrepresentations  of  such  organizations  as  the  American 
Association  for  Labor  Legislation,  the  American  Public  Health 
Association,  the  leaders  in  graft  prosecutions  in  San  Francisco 
and  elsewhere,  and  the  campaign  of  vituperation  against  the 
Interchurch  World  Movement  Committee’s  steel  strike  inves¬ 
tigators  and  the  distinguished  clergymen  who  constituted  the 
Committee  and  issued  its  Report. 

This  device  of  trying  to  kill  a  movement  by  attacking  indi¬ 
viduals  or  calling  names  is  of  course  not  confined  to  vested- 
interest  conservatism,  much  less  to  purely  economic  vested 
interests.  Wherever  met  with,  it  is  an  evidence  of  vulgarity, 
sometimes  clever  (as  in  the  case  of  cartoons),  and  nearly  always 
designed  as  an  appeal  to  prejudice,  although  it  may  pose  as  an 

26That  this  characterization  of  thq  vested-interest  conservative  de¬ 
scription  or  conception  of  the  labor  organizer  and  all  but  the  most  con¬ 
servative  national  labor  leaders  is  not  overdrawn  will,  it  is  believed,  be 
the  conclusion  of  any  open-minded  person  who  will  take  the  trouble  to 
glance  through  the  files,  say  of  the  National  Civic  Federation  Review ,  or 
almost  any  financial  journal  for  recent  years. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


115 


appeal  to  reason.  With  the  uncritical  mind,  habitually  nursing 
and  feeding  its  own  prejudices,  it  is  as  efficacious  in  preventing 
open-mindedness  toward  the  opposition’s  ideas  as  is  the  adroit 
use  of  shibboleths  and  rallying  cries  in  creating  and  maintain¬ 
ing  an  unquestioning  loyalty  to  the  ideas  and  interests  of  one’s 
own  camp  or  clique.  We  are  here  touching  upon  one  of  the 
costly  shortcomings  of  the  popular,  as  contrasted  with  the  crit¬ 
ical  or  scientific  attitude,  but  it  is  just  this  lack  of  critical  ca¬ 
pacity — one  might  almost  say  of  critical  will — which  gives  con¬ 
servative  vested  interests  their  hold,  and  which,  once  that  hold 
is  broken,  tends  to  produce  an  almost  equally  uncritical  and 
credulous  rush  to  the  extreme  of  interested  radicalism. 

In  the  field  of  politics  it  is  evident  that  slogans,  shibboleths, 
claptrap,  and  chicane  still  play,  as  they  always  have  played, 
important  roles.  This  is  true,  whe.ther  we  have  in  mind  those 
larger  but  somewhat  purposely  obscured  special  interests  which 
it  has  been  the  function  of  the  chicanery,  deceit  and  skillful  lying 
of  secret  diplomacy  to  further,  or  merely  the  coining  of  popular 
election  slogans  like  the  vulgar  “full  dinner  pail”  or  the  more 
dignified  but  in  the  light  of  swiftly  following  events  ironical 
*  ‘  He  kept  us  out  of  war,  ’  ’  and  ‘ 1  back  to  normalcy.  ’  ’ 

When  nationalistic  sentiment  runs  high,  as  in  spite  of  high- 
flown  idealism,  it  has  run,  even  in  “disinterested”  America  of 
late  years,  when  popular  feeling  has  been  stirred  to  the  depths, 
and  popular  indignation  at  international  injustices  fanned  into 
furious  heat  and  unreasoning  hysteria,  certain  words — names 
of  ideals — become  invincible  slogans.  To  this  class  belong  ‘  ‘  pa¬ 
triotic,”  “loyal,”  “American,”  and  their  antonyms,  “unpa¬ 
triotic,  ”  “  disloyal,  ’  ’  and  ‘  ‘  un-American.  ’  ’ 

In  the  fervor  of  nationalistic  sentiment  a  new  sort  of  patri¬ 
otism,  a  sort  of  super-patriotism,  is  conceived  of,  and  christened 
“one  hundred  per  cent  Americanism.”  Now  the  point  here  is 
not  that  patriotism,  nationalism,  loyalty,  and  Americanism 
(even  of  the  “one  hundred  per  cent”  variety)  are,  or  are  not, 
praiseworthy  and  desirable.  The  point  is  that  these  terms  are 
seized  upon  by  every  sort  of  special  designing  interest,  person, 
or  group,  and  prostituted  to  the  furthering  of  selfish  material¬ 
istic  ends.  If  prohibition  interferes  with  brewing  profits  it  is 
“un-American”;  if  effective  labor  organization  raises  wages,  it  is 


116  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

“unpatriotic” ;  if  critical  scholarship  questions  the  motivation 
of  conduct  of  the  war  it  is  “disloyal.”  In  general  anything 
that  does  not  involve  putting  social  institutions  and  economic 
conditions  back  where  they  were  in  July,  1914,  falls  short  of 
the  magic  standard,  ‘  ‘  one  hundred  per  cent  American. ’  ’ 

Unfortunately  the  good  term  “democracy”  has  not  escaped 
similar  prostitution.  The  vested  interests  which  have  been  finan¬ 
cially  discommoded  by  the  income  tax,  the  excess  profits  tax, 
the  Clayton  Anti-trust  Act,  the  Federal  Trade  Commission  Act, 
and  by  the  public  utility  commissions,  etc.,  see  much  merit  in 
the  “democracy  of  our  fathers,”  which,  being  of  a  laissez  faire 
type,  was  not  effective  in  preventing  the  development  of  power¬ 
ful  special  privilege,  and  which,  if  it  could  be  restored,  would 
remove  even  the  feeble  restrictions  which  we  now  have.  The 
simple  truth  is  that  no  special  interest  has  any  use  for  a  real 
and  effective  democracy,  and  vested-interest  talk  about  democ¬ 
racy  is  largely  chicane  and  claptrap. 

It  would  take  us  too  far  afield  to  attempt  to  discuss  even  in 
outline  the  methods  of  vested-interest  conservatism  in  religion 
and  ecclesiasticism.  That  there  are  ecclesiastical  interests  which 
consciously  and  designedly  oppose  progress  in  religious  thought 
and  ethics  is  patent.  What  is  called  cant  may  be  either  the 
result  of  designing  selfishness  (economic  interest)  masquerad¬ 
ing  under  the  forms,  ceremonies,  and  vocabulary  of  religious 
observance,  or  it  may  be  merely  the  reflection  of  the  uncritical 
popular  habit  of  accepting  words  at  par  value  without  impulse 
or  capacity  to  inquire  closely  into  their  significance. 

There  are  other  conditions  which  contribute  to  the  success  of 
even  transparent  dishonesty  and  chicane  on  the  part  of  selfish 
interests.  These  are  to  be  found  in  the  apathy  of  the  general 
public  and  the  constant  alertness  and  activity  of  the  interests 
themselves. 

It  is  an  old  cynical  saying  that  “what  is  the  public’s  business 
is  nobody’s  business.”  In  so  far  as  this  is  true,  it  may  be  ex¬ 
plained  as  the  natural  outcome  of  the  selfish,  laissez  faire ,  ‘  ‘  self- 
help”  theory  upon  which  popular  organization  and  economic 
processes  have  been  conducted,  with  important  modification  it 
is  true,  since  the  Industrial  Revolution.  Especially  in  a  new 
country  and  in  the  geographical  zone  known  as  the  frontier,27 


27  See  F.  J.  Turner,  The  Frontier  in  American  History ,  1920. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


117 


where  great  natural  resources  await  private  appropriation  and 
exploitation,  and  where  the  uppermost  thought  of  every  indi¬ 
vidual  and  every  family  is  to  “get  on,”  it  will  be  true  that 
few  will  be  willing  to  take  time  or  thought  away  from  private 
affairs  to  devote  to  public  interests.  Where  public  and  private 
interests  seem  in  conflict,  private  interests  make  the  first  claim 
to  attention.  The  same  holds  true  in  those  great  commercial 
and  industrial  centers  in  which  the  central  controlling  motive 
is  “business.”  Not  only,  then,  does  public  apathy — that  is, 
absorption  in  private  material  interests — furnish  a  fruitful  cul¬ 
ture  medium  for  the  political  corruption  and  gross  inefficiency 
of  government,  especially  municipal  administration,  which  has 
been  the  disgrace  of  America,  but  in  a  broader  and  not  less 
significant  way  it  has  supplied  just  the  requisite  condition  under 
which  vested-interest  conservatism  could  manipulate  govern¬ 
mental  agencies  and  public  sentiment  to  its  own  designs. 

At  those  times  when  public  sentiment  has  been  aroused  to 
a  wave  of  zealous  political  house-cleaning,  the  special  economic 
and  corrupt  political  interests  have  momentarily  bowed  to  the 
storm,  in  the  faith,  based  on  sufficient  experience,  that  it  would 
soon  blow  over  and  the  virtuous  citizens  settle  back  to  the  calm 
pursuit  of  their  own  personal  affairs.  At  other  times  the  inter¬ 
ests  find  it  most  expedient  and  effective  simply  to  sit  tight,  say 
nothing,  and  ignore  the  attacks  of  progressives  and  radicals. 
This  of  course  points  to  the  advantage  which  all  conservatism 
enjoys,  namely,  that  it  is  in  an  entrenched  position,  which  pro- 
gressivism  or  radicalism  can  carry  only  by  a  frontal  attack  or 
a  prolonged  and  costly  siege. 

To  assert  untruths  or  half-truths,  to  play  upon  prejudice  and 
passion  through  the  use  of  rallying  cries,  shibboleths,  and  slo¬ 
gans,  to  create  prejudice  through  calling  names,  through  cynical 
ridicule  and  caricature,  to  appeal  to  local  enthusiasms,  arouse 
local  fears,  and  fan  sectional  loyalties,  to  discourage  objectivity, 
open-mindedness,  and  fair  criticism — these  are  the  too  common 
and  conspicuous  methods  of  vested-interest  conservatism.  They 
overshadow  in  volume  and  out-balance  in  weight  the  justifiable 
methods  of  objective  presentation  of  evidence,  honest  propa¬ 
ganda,  and  fair  consideration  of  the  other  side,  methods  open 
to  all  parties,  and  all  shades  of  opinion,  which  may  be  prac¬ 
ticed  by  honest  conservatives  and  sincere  radicals  alike. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  determine  how  much  of  the  defensive 


118  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

propaganda  of  interested  conservatism  is  honest  and  sincere — 
based  on  a  sincere  conviction  as  to  the  social  value  of  the  inter¬ 
ests  and  status  quo  defended — and  how  much  of  it  is  consciously 
and  designedly  “bunk”  and  claptrap.  Where  the  motive  is 
assuredly  individual-  or  class-selfishness,  how  fully  conscious  of 
this  fact  are  the  conservatives?  How  much  human  sympathy 
have  they?  How  much  knowledge  of  social  conditions  do  they 
have?  How  much  knowledge  of  “how  the  other  half”  lives  do 
they  care  to  have?  However  much  sympathy  and  public  senti¬ 
ment  interested  conservatives  may  have  in  concrete  cases — as 
for  instance  the  care  of  conspicuous  destitution  or  the  institu¬ 
tion  of  “good  fellow”  Christmas  dinners  for  the  poor — there  is 
room  for  some  question  as  to  the  reality  and  breadth  of  their 
“public”  and  “progressive”  spirit. 


CHAPTER  VI 


THE  MOTIVATION  OF  RADICALISM 

Generally  speaking,  radicalism  is  the  product  of  un¬ 
rest.  Unrest  is  the  expression  of  personal  discomfort. 
Thoroughly  comfortable  individuals  never  become  radi¬ 
cals.  The  main  reason  why  people  desire  innovation  is  that 
they  are  uncomfortable  under  the  existing  status  quo  and  see 
no  prospect  of  relief  in  change  in  the  direction  of  reactionism. 
This  is  not  saying,  of  course,  that  all  discomfort,  even  when 
extreme,  leads  to  radicalism.  It  may  lead  to  hysteria,  to  a  con¬ 
tented  disbelief  in  the  efficacy  of  human  effort,  to  sullen  stoicism, 
to  mob  violence,  or  to  patient,  painstaking  effort,  often  success¬ 
ful,  to  adjust  the  personality  to  the  existing  environment, 
rather  than  to  any  serious  attempt  to  change  the  environment 
itself  even  in  superficial  ways. 

Discomfort  may  not  lead  even  to  mild  progressivism.  The 
individual’s  life  may  be  so  dominated  by  fixed  habits  that  fail¬ 
ure  of  certain  aspects  of  his  personality  to  obtain  adjustment 
and  healthful  functioning  may  not  be  sufficient  stimulus  to 
break  down  the  inertia  of  his  established  routines  and  attitudes. 
Similarly,  his  social  or  economic  position  may  be  such  that  no 
ordinary  amount  of  discomfort  or  maladjustment  serves  to 
overcome  his  fear.  This  is  notably  the  case  in  certain  types  of 
what  we  have  called  the  “ conservatism  of  necessitous  condition.” 

When  the  uncomfortable  person  contemplates  no  other  method 
of  removing  his  discomfort  than  those  at  the  time  recognized 
and  practiced  as  conventionally  right  and  proper — for  example, 
the  business  principles  of  self-help,  caveat  emptor,  charging 
what  the  traffic  will  bear,  individual  energy,  initiative,  and 
thrift,  and  the  “go  get  it”  spirit,  or  the  Christian  virtues  of 
modesty,  humility,  self-criticism,  conscientious  soul-searchings, 
and  conviction  of  sin  and  unworthiness — the  radical  attitude 
does  not  develop. 

110 


120  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

Only  when  discomfort  or  dissatisfaction  creates  a  desire  for 
significant  changes  or  transformations  in  social  organization, 
relations,  or  standards,  does  it  lead  to  other  than  habitual  con¬ 
servative  attitudes.  When  the  desire  for  thorough-going,  funda¬ 
mental,  and  rapid  change  of  the  environment  in  essential  re¬ 
spects  is  present,  the  sources  of  this  desire  will  always  be  found 
to  be  some  maladjustment  between  the  individual  and  his  sur¬ 
roundings  such  that  he  is  consciously  uncomfortable  and  rest¬ 
less.  It  is  not  essential  that  he  know  the  causes  of  his  discom¬ 
fort  or  that  the  objective  changes  he  desires  be  such  as  would 
remove  the  real  causes. 

Desire  is  always  a  disposition  to  change — to  do  something 
that  one  is  not  doing,  or  to  be  something  other  than  one  is  or 
thinks  one  is  at  the  particular  moment.  Desire  is  the  result  of 
stimulus,  and  stimulus  always  leads  to  some  sort  of  bodily  or 
psycho-physical  activity.  The  stimulus,  whether  from  some 
part  of  the  organism  itself  or  from  the  external  environment 
(physical  or  social)  produces  a  disequilibrium,  which  is  nor¬ 
mally  balanced  by  the  appropriate  reaction  or  response.  The 
normal,  healthy  conservative  lives  a  life  of  short-cycle  routine 
(largely  habitual)  in  which  organic  disequilibria,  physical  or 
mental,  are  balanced,  and  the  energy  of  desire  or  unrest  released 
in  a  fairly  regular  rhythm.  In  individuals  who  become  radicals, 
this  short-cycle  ebb  and  flow  of  disequilibrium  and  equilibrium, 
of  desire  and  satisfaction,  of  stimulus  and  releasing  reaction, 
is  broken  into  by  desires  or  interests  which  do  not  find  release 
or  expression  in  normal  rhythmic  response.  A  state  of  more 
or  less  chronic  unrest  ensues,  and  may  become  the  basis  for 
definitely  formulated  desire  for  fundamental  change  in  the 
environment. 

Any  impulse  to  action,  any  “ motor  set,”  desire,  or  disposi¬ 
tion,  the  carrying  out  of  which  is  impeded,  prevented,  or 
balked,  gives  rise  to  organic  unrest,  which  may  be  merely  physi¬ 
cal,  or  e  1  spiritual.  ’  ’ 1 

*A11  unrest  has  its  physical  basis.  Even  “spiritual”  disequilibrium 
may — when  physiological  psychology  attains  more  adequate  analytical 
power  than  it  now  has — be  explained  in  physical  terms,  if  any  gain  in 
clearness  of  understanding  is  to  be  had  thereby.  The  terms  physical 
and  spiritual  are  here  used  in  a  somewhat  popular  or  conventional  sense. 
A  man  may  be  restless  because,  unconsciously  to  himself,  his  thyroid 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


121 


Now  what  happens  when  a  desire  or  a  complex  of  desires 
(interest)  is  balked?  Normally  an  unbalked  desire  or  interest 
is  fulfilled  and  terminated  by  the  appropriate  motor  activity.* 2 
Fulfillment  of  desire  or  interest  is  accompanied  by  the  appro¬ 
priate  emotions,  mostly  of  a  “pleasurable”  or  satisfying  char¬ 
acter.  When  the  interest  is  impeded  or  balked,  however — that 
is,  when  the  normal  motor  response  which  would  release  the 
energy  of  the  desire  cannot  take  place — the  emotional  accom¬ 
paniment  is  different.  The  energy  held  back  is  likely  to  go 
into  a  ferment,  at  least  until  it  can  find  some  other  outlet  than 
the  one  to  which  the  desire  or  interest  was  at  first  directed. 
The  central  emotion  of  the  balked  disposition  is  “hurt  feeling,” 
resentment,  or  anger.  Accompanying  emotions  may  also  be 
fear,  discouragement,  or  simply  a  generalized  and  diffused  sense 
of  uneasiness.  Which  emotions  or  emotional  complexes  are 
most  in  evidence  will  depend  on  the  type  of  temperament  and 
character. 

It  should  be  understood  that  the  initial  anger  is  not  due  to 
loss  of  the  object  of  the  desire  or  failure  to  achieve  the  aims  of 
the  interest,  but  follows  immediately  in  a  purely  reflexive  man¬ 
ner  upon  the  balking  of  the  wish,  or  the  damming  up  of  the 
motor  activity  appropriate  to  the  realization  of  the  wish.  The 
organism  is  “set”  for  a  given  line  of  action,  and  when  action 
cannot  be  carried  out  along  that  line  the  universal  first  impulse 
is  toward  those  motor  reflexes  which  are  the  manifestations  of 
anger,  in  some  one  of  its  many  forms,  and  which  are  classified 
under  the  general  term  pugnacity. 

One  of  these  initial  reflexes,  and  perhaps  fundamentally  the 
one  most  important  in  its  social  consequences,  is  the  tendency 
to  blame  somebody — some  person — as  an  object  upon  whom 
the  angered  organism,  now  set  for  combat,  may  make  its 
attack. 

glands  are  overactive;  because  he  is  conscious  of  hunger,  or  because  he 
wishes  to  solve  a  mathematical  problem,  rescue  a  fellow-man  from  suf¬ 
fering,  is  himself  suffering  under  a  “conviction  of  sin,”  or  is  irritated  by 
a  consciousness  of  the  waste,  disorder,  and  ugliness  of  a  social  system. 

2  This  statement  will  hold  whether  the  desire  is  a  simple  physical 
“appetite,”  an  urge  to  intellectual  activity,  or  an  impulse  to  “get  in  tune 
with  the  infinite.”  On  thinking,  for  instance,  as  motor  activity,  see 
Watson,  Psychology  from  the  Standpoint  of  a  Behaviorist 1919,  p.  15 
and  Ch.  9. 


122  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

Reflexive  anger,  blame,  and  set-for-combat  are  the  initial 
effort  of  the  organism  to  prepare  itself  for  action  in  a  new 
situation  involving  a  break  in  the  regular  routine  of  habit  or 
obstruction  of  the  carrying  out  of  desire  and  interest.  But 
anger  and  fear  are  closely  associated;  are  perhaps  but  the  two 
sides  of  one  shield.  Whether  the  combative  impulse  associated 
with  anger,  or  the  avoidance  impulse  attendant  on  fear,  shall 
guide  and  motivate  subsequent  activity  can  be  foretold  only  if 
we  know  both  the  general  situation  and  the  character  and 
temperament  of  the  individual.  In  any  case  the  individual  is 
confronted  with  the  necessity  of  making  some  sort  of  readjust¬ 
ment  between  himself  and  his  environment.  He  may  attempt 
to  accomplish  this  by  attack  upon  the  environment,  or  may 
elect,  under  the  influence  of  fear  (timidity,  lack  of  self-confi¬ 
dence,  etc.),  to  modify  his  desires  and  docilely  accept  what¬ 
ever  the  situation  may  hold  in  store  for  the  meek  and  non- 
resistant  personality.  If  attack  rather  than  self-repression  is 
the  chosen  mode  of  readjustment,  the  resulting  attitude  may 
very  well  be  radical,  although  it  might  be  reactionary.  In  the 
higher  mental  types  the  combative  impulse  may  give  way  to 
curiosity  and  contrivance  impulses,  and  the  attack  be  car¬ 
ried  out  not  so  much  in  a  militant  as  in  a  workmanlike 
manner. 

Speaking  in  the  by  and  large,  readjustment  will  take  place 
through  one  of  three  processes — (1)  repression,  (2)  substitu¬ 
tion  and  transference,  and  (3)  reinforcement.  In  the  first,  the 
obstructed  desire  or  interest  is  repressed  or  totally  suppressed. 
In  the  second,  it  is  “sublimated”  through  the  substitution  of 
other  desires  or  interests  and  transfer  of  attention  to  them. 
In  the  third,  attention  is  concentrated  upon  the  obstructed 
desire  and  it  is  reinforced  by  the  determination  to  remove 
the  obstructing  agency.  The  method  of  readjustment  obvi¬ 
ously  has  important  causal  bearing  on  the  psychology,  and 
especially  the  motivation,  of  conservative  and  radical  atti¬ 
tudes. 

(1)  Repression  or  total  suppression.  Where  the  readjust¬ 
ment  is  accomplished  by  a  recession  of  the  obstructed  desire, 
the  desire  (a)  either  drops  automatically  out  of  the,  individual’s 
life  (that  is,  is  completely  forgotten)  and  retains  no  influence 
even  in  the  unconscious,  or  (b)  is  suppressed — driven  out  of  the 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


1  OO 
1  ^  o 

individual’s  life  by  conscious  act  of  will  (desire  to  be  rid  of  it),3 
or  (c)  apparently  totally  suppressed,  it  may  be  in  reality  only 
held  in  durance  vile  in  the  subconscious  or  unconscious  by  the 
“censor,”  which  may  be  for  the  occasion  either  conscience,  or 
fear,  or  rational  control. 

In  case  the  desire  is  relatively  superficial  and  unimportant, 
it  is  simply  dropped  and  forgotten,  without  struggle  or  effort, 
and  without  appreciable  disturbance  to  the  personality.  Where 
it  is  of  greater  amplitude  and  intensity,  involves  a  significant 
disequilibrium  of  energy,  and  is  regarded  as  important,  the 
individual  can  dismiss  it  from  his  life  only  by  conscious  specific 
attention  and  act  of  will  accomplishing  complete  suppression. 
In  this  case,  the  individual  gives  the  desire  concentrated  atten¬ 
tion  for  the  time  being,  not  with  the  idea  of  its  realization  in 
spite  of  all  impediments,  but  with  the  conscious  purpose  of  get¬ 
ting  rid  of  it  once  for  all.  It  is  highly  important  to  him,  but, 
from  whatever  reason,  he  prefers  not  to  push  for  its  fulfillment. 
His  will  to  forgetting  or  suppression  is  really  the  stronger  de¬ 
sire  to  avoid  the  disagreeable  results  probably  involved  in  effort 
to  overcome  the  obstacles  to  the  realization  of  the  original 
desire. 

With  the  balked  disposition  totally  suppressed,  the  individual 
can  proceed  to  other  interests,  untroubled  and  unhampered  by 
the  disturbing  emotions  experienced  at  the  time  of  the  balking. 
The  idea  or  the  purpose  of  the  desire  is  dismissed,  and  with  it 
the  desire.  The  energy  which  would  have  gone  to  its  realiza¬ 
tion,  had  the  individual  been  left  free  to  carry  out  his  purpose, 
is  now  free  to  be  applied,  without  ulterior  motive,  and  without 
regrets  or  hesitancy,  to  other  interests  which  can  be  pursued 
without  impediment  from  the  existing  social  status  quo. 

Where  complete  suppression  takes  place  in  this  manner,  and 
the  individual  turns  his  attention  and  energies  to  conventional 
interests,  it  is  obvious  that  the  reflexive  anger  and  resentment 
attendant  upon  balked  desire  do  not  afford  any  effective  impulse 
toward  progressive  or  radical  attitudes.  In  suppression  of  de¬ 
sire  and  acquiescence  in  the  continued  existence  of  the  obstruc¬ 
tion  we  have  further  light  on  the  psychology  of  the  easy-going, 
flabby  conservative.  If,  in  such  an  individual,  an  incipient 

3  The  stickler  for  strict  psychoanalytical  procedure  may  object  that 
this  is  only  a  type  of  sublimation. 


124  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

radical  impulse  does  arise,  it  is  immediately  suppressed,  and 
by  reason  of  repetition  of  this  suppression  process  the  acqui¬ 
escent  do-nothing  habit  is  firmly  established. 

The  term  suppression,  or  total  suppression,  is  meant  to  sig¬ 
nify  that  the  desire  is  gone  out  of  the  personality  completely — « 
that  it  does  not  hang  around  in  the  subconscious  or  unconscious, 
seeking  egress  into  consciousness  again  at  some  favorable  op¬ 
portunity.  Some  psychologists  hold  that  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  total  suppression  of  a  wish  while  others  hold  that  there  is.4 
The  psychoanalytical  view  is  that  once  a  desire  is  experienced, 
even  though  it  never  reach  formulation  in  words  (ideas),  it  is 
never  so  entirely  destroyed,  suppressed,  or  repressed  that  it  may 
not  return,  though  perhaps  in  disguised  and  symbolical  form, 
to  plague  the  individual.  According  to  this  view  the  desire 
is  either  held  down  in  the  unconscious  by  the  main  force  and 
watchful  police  functioning  of  the  conscientious  “  censor,  ”  or 
through  sublimation  (the  second  of  our  above-mentioned  meth¬ 
ods  of  readjustment)  is  allowed  to  drain  off  its  energies  in  col¬ 
lateral,  and  perhaps  diluted,  streams  of  interest.  If  by  the 
“unconscious”  is  meant  instinctive  impulses  which  are  not 
usually  defined  in  idea  form  and  which  are  habitually  inhibited 
or  unconsciously  sublimated,  or,  from  the  behavioristic  stand¬ 
point,  obscure  physiological  processes  (reflex  arcs  and  arc-com¬ 
plexes)  of  which  the  individual  is  entirely  unaware,  it  is  reason¬ 
able  enough  to  suppose  that  no  desire  ever  occurs  without  leav¬ 
ing  some  trace  of  characterization  upon  the  personality,  some 
latent  tendency  for  the  obstructed  reflex-complex  to  be  carried 
out  should  opportunity  and  stimulus  to  it  ever  recur. 

Indeed,  from  a  scientific,  deterministic  standpoint  some  such 
trace  of  characterization  must  always  remain.  The  individual 
is  the  product  of  all  his  past  reactions,  both  releases  and  repres¬ 
sions.  This  is  succinctly  put  by  Watson  when  he  concludes,  in 
italics,  that  “youthful,  outgrown  and  partially  discarded  habit 
and  instinctive  systems  of  reaction  can  and  possibly  always  do 
influence  the  functioning  of  our  adult  systems  of  reaction  and 
influence  to  a  certain  extent  even  the  possibility  of  our  form¬ 
ing  the  new  habit  systems  which  we  must  reasonably  be  expected 

4  The  latter  view  is  supported  by  Dunlap’s  somewhat  caustic  criticism 
of  the  psychoanalytic  position,  in  his  Mysticism,  Freudianism,  and  Scien¬ 
tific  Psychology ,  1920.  See  especially,  pp.  46-50,  95,  105-108. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  125 

to  form”;6  and  again,  where,  by  implication  accepting  the 
psychoanalytic  view,  he  says: 

“  Unquestionably  the  completeness  with  which  old  habits  and 
the  emotional  factor  connected  with  them  which  do  not  work 
are  pnt  away  when  the  new  situation  is  faced,  tremendously 
modifies  the  type  of  personality  each  individual  develops  into. 
.  .  .  Possibly  no  one  of  us  escapes  unscathed  through  the  child¬ 
hood  and  adolescence  stages.  The  early  situation  when  again 
faced  by  the  adult  may  not  call  out  the  overt  infant  reactions 
but  they  do  not  wholly  lose  their  power  to  stir  up  the  old  im¬ 
plicit  emotional  activity.  0  .  .  A  great  many  individuals  have 
water-tight  compartments  filled  with  old  reaction  systems  which 
resist  the  storm  and  stress  of  adult  life.”6 

While  the  reference  here  is  to  childhood  desires  and  ten¬ 
dencies,  the  thought  applies  equally  well  to  any  balking  of  desire 
or  interest  which  necessitates  readjustment  of  reaction  systems. 

It  should  be  remembered,  however,  that  the  psychoanalysts7 8 
conclusions  have  thus  far  been  derived  almost  entirely  from 
observation  of  mentally  pathological  individuals,  in  whom  old 
and  obstructed  desires  or  “complexes”  have  not  been  discarded 
or  even  effectively  repressed.  Had  they  given  more  attention  to 
normal  individuals,  it  is  quite  possible  that  they  would  accept 
the  idea  of  total  suppression.  In  the  case  of  normal  personality, 
it  makes  little  difference  whether  we  call  the  process  of  getting 
rid  of  a  desire  which  one  does  not  care  or  dare  to  push  against 
social  obstruction,  total  suppression,  or  repression  into  the  un¬ 
conscious.  The  fact  remains  that  so  far  as  the  individual’s  con¬ 
scious  life  is  concerned  he  does  get  rid  of  the  desire  and  of  the 
emotions  experienced  at  the  time  of  its  obstruction,  and  that 
he  has  accomplished  this  riddance  by  a  conscious  exercise  of 
will,  by  “direct  action,”  without  the  conscious  aid  of  sublima¬ 
tion  devices.  The  bearing  of  these  facts  on  the  formation  of 
social  attitudes  is  that  suppression,  or  repression,  is  not  at  all 
likely  to  produce  radical  attitudes. 

(2)  Transference  and  substitution.  The  second  method  of 
readjustment  is  by  way  of  what  the  psychoanalysts  have  named 
sublimation — the  substitution  of  other  desires  or  interests  and 

6  Psychology  from  the  Standpoint  of  a  Behaviorist,  1919,  p.  408.  See 

also  Frink,  Morbid  Fears  and  Compulsions,  1918,  p.  520. 

8  Watson,  op.  cit.,  p.  41G. 


126  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

the  transference  to  them  of  the  attention  and  energy  which 
would  have  gone  to  the  realization  of  the  old  desire.7 

Substitution  and  transference  may  be  consciously  and  pur¬ 
posefully  undertaken  and  directed,  or  may  be  largely  an  un¬ 
conscious  process.  New  interests  may  be  created,  or  old  inter¬ 
ests  given  greater  attention,  with  the  direct  and  conscious  pur¬ 
pose  of  “taking  the  mind  off”  the  disappointment  and  unrest 
occasioned  by  obstructed  desire.  The  existence  of  this  original 
desire  is  frankly  recognized,  but  there  is  no  attempt  to  suppress 
or  repress  it.  It  is  simply  deprived  of  support  and  is  atrophied 
by  disuse,  since  attention  is  withdrawn  from  it,  and  interest  in 
it  diminished,  in  proportion  to  the  degree  that  they  are  trans¬ 
ferred  to  the  interest  in  process  of  substitution.  The  energy 
which  would  have  gone  into  the  realization  of  the  original  de¬ 
sire,  had  it  not  been  balked,  or  which  might  have  been  used  in 
attempts  (perhaps  successful)  at  suppression  or  total  repres¬ 
sion,  or  into  the  conflicts  of  a  disorganized  personality  in  the 
event  that  repression  proved  a  failure,  is  now  switched  to  other 
tracks  which  gradually  develop  capacity  to  handle  the  whole 
traffic.  When  this  stage  is  reached  and  the  old  desire  reduced 
to  innocuous  desuetude,  the  process  of  substitution  and  trans¬ 
ference  is  complete.  The  abnormal  disequilibrium  produced  by 
the  balking  of  the  original  desire  is  corrected;  the  personality 
is  compensated  by  the  new  interest.  The  individual’s  energies 
now  continue  to  function  with  unabated  vigor,  though  in  new 
directions  and  to  altered  objectives. 

This  whole  process  may  be  carried  out  unconsciously,  and 
perhaps  is  so  in  the  vast  majority  of  cases.  Attempts  at  re¬ 
pression  may  be  made  and  fail,  or  prove  only  partially  successful. 
The  repressed  desire  escapes  the  watchfulness  of  the  “censor,” 
but  in  disguised  or  symbolic  form,  in  which  form  it  may  in 
weak  temperaments  play  pranks  enough  to  bring  on  a  neurosis, 


7  The  term  “transference”  is  used  by  the  psychoanalysts  in  a  highly 
technical  sense,  practically  synonymous  with  the  “conditioned  reflex”  of 
the  beliaviorists.  (See  Frink,  Morbid  Fears  and  Compulsions,  1918,  pp. 
192-197.)  That  is  no  good  reason,  however,  why  it  should  not  be  used  in 
the  way  suggested  in  the  text.  There  is  no  other  term  which  suggests 
so  accurately  and  definitely  just  what  takes  place  in  this  second  method 
of  readjustment.  Frink’s  term  “displacement”  and  Dunlap’s  “drainage” 
mean  the  same  thing,  but  do  not  seem  to  be  as  suggestively  descriptive 
as  “transference.” 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  127 

or  may  unconsciously  be  directed  to  new  objectives  which  in 
conscious  activity  symbolize  it  and  give  release  to  it. 

The  final  results  of  such  unconscious  transference  and  sub¬ 
stitution  may  not  be  essentially  different  from  those  of  conscious 
transference,  except  that  where  the  process  is  consciously  di¬ 
rected,  intelligence  has  a  chance  to  prevent  or  minimize  the 
tendency  to  dispersion  of  interests  and  to  the  dilettantism  likely 
to  attend  unconscious  transference. 

We  are  now  in  a  position  to  note  the  influence  of  transfer¬ 
ence  and  substitution  upon  social  attitudes.  Whether  the  new 
interests  to  which  the  attention  and  the  energy  of  the  old  desire 
are  directed  are  of  a  conservative  or  radical  nature  will  depend 
primarily  upon  the  temperament  and  previous  habituation  of 
the  individual.  If  he  is  of  a  non-resistant  type,  strongly  moti¬ 
vated  by  fear  complexes,  or  if  he  is  deeply  habituated  to  the 
existing  general  order  of  things — in  brief,  if  he  is  a  tempera¬ 
mental  conservative— his  transference  will  be  to  substituted  in¬ 
terests  not  in  conflict  with  the  existing  conventional  order  or 
the  main  trend  of  sentiment  in  his  class  and  locality.  If  in 
such  a  temperament  transference  to  radical  interests  does  take 
place  it  is  probably  a  case  of  “  compensation/  ’  in  the  technical 
psychoanalytical  sense.  The  non-resistant  worm  does  some¬ 
times  turn,  and  when  he  turns,  it  is  likely  to  be  with  tiger-like 
ferocity. 

If  on  the  other  hand  the  individual  be  of  a  more  assertive 
and  pugnacious  temperament,  transference  is  much  more  likely 
to  be  of  radical  interests.  In  either  case  the  new  interests,  es¬ 
pecially  where  the  transference  is  unconscious,  are  in  a  measure 
symbolical  of  the  balked  desire,  and  we  may  accordingly,  for 
convenience,  speak  of  symbolical  conservatism  and  symbolical 
radicalism. 

This  kind  of  conservatism  is  very  common.  A  vast  amount  of 
interest  in  and  devotion  to  conventional  social  and  religious 
activities  has  this  background  and  motivation.  No  small  amount 
of  “social  service,”  in  charity  work,  social  settlements,  mission 
work,  both  home  and  foreign,  “crusade,”  and  “uplift”  move¬ 
ments,  is  indulged  in  by  individuals  who  are  unconsciously  com¬ 
pensating  for  balked  dispositions.  This  is  particularly  true  of 
volunteer  work,  and  is  probably  truer  of  women  than  of  men. 
Women  are  by  no  means  alone,  however,  in  this  symbolical  con- 


128  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

servatism.  Checkmated  in  the  struggle  for  “success”  on  the 
commercial  battleground,  our  male  friend  joins  the  army  of 
back-to-the-land  sentimentalists.  Failing  in  his  ambition  for 
distinction  in  his  field,  the  mediocre  professional  man  settles 
down  to  routine  work  and  creature  comforts,  and  finds  soothing 
release  in  an  arm  chair,  popular  magazines,  an  automobile  and 
golf,  and  vicarious  interest  in  the  ambitions  and  activities  of 
his  children.8 9 

It  is  now  well  recognized  that  much  of  the  restlessness  of 
modern  women  comes  from  the  fact  that  the  domestic  duties  of 
the  home,  under  the  modern  small  family  system  and  since  the 
factory  and  other  non-domestic  agencies  have  taken  over  so 
much  of  the  work  which  formerly  had  to  be  done  in  the  individ¬ 
ual  household,  are  not  sufficiently  engrossing  to  occupy  the  at¬ 
tention  or  to  give  outlet  for  instincts  of  workmanship  and 
self-expression.  This  is  especially  the  case  with  the  woman  whose 
children  are  “married  and  gone.”  She  needs  new  interests  to 
which  to  transfer  her  activities,  now  balked  for  lack  of  objective. 
Bridge  and  the  movies  are  but  imperfect  substitutes,  as  any 
psychopathic  clinic,  or  observation  of  the  average  highly  domes¬ 
ticated  “postgraduate  mother,”  will  bear  evidence.  Conse¬ 
quently  certain  aspects  of  the  woman  movement  are  not  so  wildly 
radical  as  some  short-sighted  opponents  suppose.  It  can  scarcely 
be  considered  irrational  radicalism  to  ask,  for  instance,  for  such 
change  in  social  conventions  as  will  allow  the  postgraduate 
mother  to  transfer  her  now  balked  attention  and  energy  to  sub¬ 
stitute  interests  of  more  social  utility  than  the  organized  futil¬ 
ity  of  social  functions  and  “literary”  clubs,  without  feeling 
that  she  is  violating  the  accepted  canons  of  taste  and  respect¬ 
ability.0 

In  temperaments  strongly  actuated  by  fear-complexes,  de¬ 
sire-obstruction  and  transference  of  attention  may  lead  to  a 
different  type  of  symbolical  conservatism.  The  anger  and  resent¬ 
ment  which  in  one  form  or  another  always  accompany  the  balk¬ 
ing  of  a  wish  and  which  usually  produce  the  impulse  to  blame 


8  It  is  commonly  said  that  children  help  to  keep  parents  young  (via 
this  vicarious  interest),  but  there  is  perhaps  quite  as  strong  an  influence 
toward  hastening  the  oncoming  of  attributes  of  age. 

9  Cf.  Anna  Garlin  Spencer.  Woman's  Share  in  Social  Culture,  1913, 
Ch.  8. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


129 


somebody  are  turned  inward  upon  the  self.  The  painful  emo¬ 
tions  of  the  obstructed  desire  are  reinforced  by  self-castigation, 
the  conviction  of  having  made  an  ass  of  oneself,  or  a  sense  of 
sin.  Under  the  impression  that  the  desire  was  improper  or 
sinful,  the  individual  may  resort  to  philosophical  or  mystical 
doctrines  of  resignation  and  renunciation,  and  in  order  to  real¬ 
ize  these  ideals  in  his  living  he  reinforces  the  consciousness  of 
wrong-doing  or  of  sin,  and  then  proceeds  to  the  task  of  self¬ 
reform  through  repression  and  sublimation.  The  resentment 
which  in  some  cases  might  have  been  directed  against  other  per¬ 
sons,  against  the  social  organization,  or  “fate,”  is  turned  upon 
the  self,  and  the  energies  of  the  balked  interest  transferred  to 
the  task  of  reshaping  the  personality.  Personal  “salvation” 
becomes  a  leading  interest,  symbolical  of  the  obstructed  desires. 

It  needs  no  erudite  analysis  to  suggest  that  here  has  been 
the  opportunity  of  the  church,  managed  by  conservative  inter¬ 
ests,  to  utilize  the  processes  of  sublimation  and  transference  to 
keep  restless  individuals  suffering  from  the  social  and  economic 
obstruction  of  legitimate  desires  and  ambitions,  from  turning 
their  baffled  energies  to  the  reform  of  social  relations.  As  long 
as  religion  could  be  kept  a  matter  of  sense  of  sin  and  personal 
salvation,  producing,  through  various  types  of  mystical  sublima¬ 
tion,  acquiescent  attitudes  of  resignation  and  contentment,  it 
remained  a  powerful  agent  for  conservative  control.  It  is  of 
very  great  significance  when  the  church,  as  in  America  at  the 
present  time,  begins  to  turn  its  attention,  in  part  at  least,  to 
the  removal  of  social  and  economic  obstructions  to  the  develop¬ 
ment  of  strong  and  symmetrical  personalities.  It  indicates  that 
the  old  processes  of  repression  and  introspective  transference 
are  recognized  to  be  inadequate  to  the  development  of  the  type 
of  character  demanded  by  the  conditions  of  modern  life.  Where 
the  church  until  recently  encouraged  the  dissipation  of  personal 
energy  in  repression  or  mystical  idealism  and  self -reform,  prac¬ 
tically  to  the  ignoring  of  social  and  economic  causation  of  “sin” 
and  misery,  the  more  intelligent  and  progressive  part  of  it  now 
seeks  to  direct  the  transfer  of  balked-interest  energy  to  chan¬ 
nels  and  objectives  which  may  prove  quite  the  reverse  of  con¬ 
servative. 

Symbolical  radicalism  results  from  unrest  and  disequilibrium 
when  the  attention  is  transferred  from  impeded  interests  to 


130  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

radical  movements  or  “causes.”  It  is  not  essential  that  the 
movements  to  which  the  energy  is  transferred  should  be  such 
as  would,  if  carried  through  to  success,  remove  the  specific 
obstructions  to  the  balked  desire.  The  repressed  energy  may 
be  placed  at  the  service  of  the  first  radical  movement  which 
claims  attention.  All  radical  social  movements  aim  at  thorough¬ 
going  change  of  social  organization  or  relations  in  some  one 
particular  or  more,  and  the  motive  to  the  desired  change  is  the 
removal  of  obstruction  of  some  kind.  Hence  any  radical  move¬ 
ment  may  take  on,  for  the  individual  in  question,  a  symbolical 
character.  Since  one  cannot  satisfy  the  original  desire,  although 
it  is  felt  to  be  entirely  normal  and  legitimate,  and  realizes  that 
the  seat  of  the  obstruction  is  somewhere  in  the  existing  social 
status  quo ,  and  also  perhaps  believes  that  the  specific  obstacle 
cannot  be  removed,  attention  and  energy  are  turned  to  another 
type  of  obstruction  or  to  generalized  revolt  against  all  and  any 
of  the  elements  of  control  in  the  present  social  system.  In 
extreme  cases  this  leads  to  the  anarchistic  attitude,  and  it  sum¬ 
marizes  some  of  the  psychic  processes  of  the  “working  stiff’7 
and  I.  W.  W.-ism,  to  whose  abnormal  but  natural  and  perhaps 
justifiable  complexes  Carleton  Parker  and  others  have  so  strik¬ 
ingly  called  our  attention. 

Symbolical  radicalism,  due  to  more  or  less  unconscious  trans¬ 
ference  of  the  energy  of  balked  or  repressed  interests,  may  be 
found  in  the  intellectual  type  of  mind,  but  is  more  prevalent  in 
emotional  types.  Such  radicalism  is  likely  to  be  superficial, 
emotional,  lacking  in  settled  principle,  and  unstable  in  its  aim 
or  object  of  attack.  There  may  be  a  sort  of  serial  transference. 
When  one  line  of  attack  or  radical  project  encounters  difficul¬ 
ties  and  does  not  move  rapidly  toward  consummation,  it  is 
given  up  (a  wish  easily  balked)  and  the  attention  turned  to 
some  other  project  which  for  a  time  elicits  equally  emotional 
enthusiasm  and  serves  as  another  temporary  outlet  for  the  en¬ 
ergy  of  the  balked  or  repressed  desire.  There  may  thus  de¬ 
velop  radical  fashions  and  fads  and  a  sort  of  lo  here !  lo  there ! 
radicalism,  which  never  “stays  put”  long  enough  on  one  thing 
to  accomplish  any  thoroughgoing  objective  change  in  social  or¬ 
ganization.  Such  radicalism  is  merely  a  sort  of  spiritual 
Wanderlust. 

(3)  Reinforcement.  The  third  method  of  readjustment  con- 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


131 


sists  in  conscious  reinforcement  of  obstructed  desire.  Instead 
of  suppressing  the  balked  disposition,  attempting  to  repress  it, 
or  “sublimating”  it  by  transference  and  substitution,  we  make 
the  desire  a  conscious,  dynamic,  motivating  force  to  its  own 
realization  in  spite  of  obstacles.  This  involves  bringing  to  its 
support  the  determination  to  remove  the  obstructions  and  “see 
the  thing  through,”  perhaps  against  all  odds.  We  put  on  our 
fighting  clothes,  and  instead  of  wasting  energy  in  repression, 
self-pity,  split  personality,  or  symbolical  and  diffused  sublima¬ 
tion,  we  proceed  in  militant  or  workmanlike  manner  to  clear 
the  ground  for  the  realization  of  the  obstructed  interest. 

This  is  the  central  line  of  radical  motivation  and  action,  so 
far  as  the  radical  attitude  is  the  result  of  balked  dispositions. 
Where  obstruction  and  reinforcement  reaction  lead  to  absorp¬ 
tion  in  the  radical  movement  or  program  designed  to  remove 
the  specific  obstructions,  the  final  result  may  amount  to  a  prac¬ 
tically  complete  transference,  for  the  time  being,  of  the  interest 
of  the  original  desire  to  interest  in  winning  the,  victory  over 
the  agencies  which  have  occasioned  the  obstruction.  But  the 
results  of  such  transference  are  different  and  more  pointed  than 
those  likely  to  flow  from  the  transference  hitherto  noted.  People 
who  know  what  they  want  in  the  way  of  radical  change,  and 
why  they  want  it,  and  who  go  out  vigorously  to  accomplish  the 
change,  are  far  more  likely  to  accomplish  definite  results 
(whether  for  good  or  ill)  than  those  whose  radicalism  is  of  a 
symbolical  and  dilettante  variety.  In  general,  one  of  the  main¬ 
springs  of  progress  is  the  aggressive  reinforcement  of  impeded 
interest — the  active,  dynamic,  and  directed  discontent  which 
drives  people  to  attack  the  obstructions  to  wish-fulfillment. 

In  Chapter  VIII  it  is  shown  that  the  method  and  the  effective¬ 
ness  of  desire-reinforcement  vary  with  the  degree  to  which  the 
individual  or  group  is  dominated  by  emotion  or  by  intellectual 
control.  The  practical,  socially  significant  results  of  balked- 
interest  motivation  and  reinforcement  depend  quite  as  much 
upon  the  method  of  reinforcement  as  upon  the  strength  or 
amplitude  of  the  unrest  and  discontent  caused  by  the  balking 
of  desire  and  interest. 

In  the  preceding  discussion  the  motivation  of  radicalism  has 
been  found  in  the  incompleteness  of  habituation  and  of  acqui¬ 
escence  to  the  existing  status  quo  and  in  the  unrest  and  desire- 


132  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

obstruction  which  result  from  conflict  of  social  interests  and 
standards — the  conflict  between  the  tried  and  familiar  and  the 
novel  and  ideal. 

We  have  now  to  raise  the  question  whether  all  radical  motiva¬ 
tion  is  properly  to  be  explained  in  terms  of  desire-obstruction 
and  reinforcement,  or  whether  there  are  instincts  and  proclivi¬ 
ties  which  would  produce  the  radical  attitude  even  in  the 
absence  of  obstruction  and  restrictive  external  controls. 

That  there  are  positive  instinctive  tendencies  which  give  rise 
to  desire  for  innovation  cannot  well  be  questioned.  These 
include  curiosity  (the  tap-root  of  all  science),  workmanship  and 
contrivance  (the  root  of  the  practical  arts),  and  aesthetic  self- 
expression  (the  root  of  the  fine  arts).  There  are  also,  in  any 
differentiated  social  organization,  proclivities  such  as  imitation 
and  emulation,  sympathy  and  antipathy,  desire  for  distinction, 
and  the  like,  which  certainly  constitute  impulses  to  innovation. 

But  whether  these  positive  instinctive  urges  and  socially 
aroused  interests  would  in  themselves  produce  the  radical  atti¬ 
tude  depends,  as  was  above  suggested,10  somewhat  on  the  meaning 
which  we  are  to  give  the  term  radicalism.  If  “radical”  is  a 
term  to  be  applied  to  all  desire  for  thoroughgoing  innovation, 
it  will  apply  to  those  who  have  such  desire  whether  they  en¬ 
counter  any  social  opposition  or  not.  The  great  inventors  and 
artists — all  innovators — would  then  be  classed  as  radicals.  But 
if  radicalism  connotes  innovative  desire  opposed ,  not  by  the 
difficulties  involved  in  control  of  physical  nature,  but  by  social 
obstacles,  socially  unrestricted  instincts  of  workmanship,  con¬ 
trivance,  curiosity,  etc.,  would  not  be  regarded  as  motives  to 
radicalism.  This  view  of  the  matter  would  amount  to  drawing 
a  distinction  between  innovative  and  radical  desires.  Innovative 
desire  would  then  be  called  radical  only  when  opposed.  Such 
a  distinction,  while  logically  proper,  is  in  fact  somewhat  aca¬ 
demic,  because  in  actual  life  there  is  scarcely  any  innovative 
desire,  especially  desire  for  thoroughgoing  and  fundamental 
innovation,^  which  does  not  all  along  encounter  more  or  less 
social  opposition  in  the  form  of  conservative  and  reactionary 
obstruction.  In  a  society  without  serious  conflicts  of  narrow 
selfish  interests,  and  with  freedom  for  the  functioning  of  the 


10  Page  18. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


133 


instincts  of  curiosity,  contrivance,  and  aesthetic  self-expres¬ 
sion,  the  inventor,  the  artist,  and  the  engineer  would  be  produc¬ 
ing  enormous  changes  in  our  mode  of'  living.  The  motivation 
to  their  work  would  be  the  creative  impulses  and  we  could  leave 
socially  balked  desires  and  obstructed  interests  out  of  the  dis^ 
cussion.  But  we  have  no  such  society,  and  are  not  likely 
soon  to  have  it.  The  very  existence  of  self-expression  instincts, 
seeking  outlet  in  innovation,  arouses  opposition  and  insti¬ 
tutes  that  balking  of  disposition  and  that  unrest  which  we 
have  described  as  the  main  source  and  cause  of  the  radical 
attitude. 

Conservatism  (or  reaction)  and  radicalism,  as  we  have  noted,  * 
are  the  opposite  ends  of  the  attitudinal  spectrum.  Innovation 
always  has  to  contend  against  habit ;  social  sympathy  and  co-op¬ 
eration  against  intrenched  special  interest;  rational  construc¬ 
tion  against  sentimental  dogmatic  conventionalism,  and  cour¬ 
ageous  curiosity  against  fear.  To  all  practical  intent  there  is 
hardly  a  human  interest  or  impulse  which,  if  it  involve  any 
very  serious  innovative  desire,  will  not  encounter  social  opposi¬ 
tion  and  become  to  that  extent  an  obstructed  interest. 

From  whatever  reason,  some  individuals  are  temperamentally 
more  inclined  to  innovative  desires  than  are  others.  There  are 
degrees  of  domination  by  fear  and  freedom  from  it,  of  originality 
and  independence  as  contrasted  with  imitativeness  and  easy 
acceptance  of  authority,  of  habituation  and  refusal  to  become 
habituated.  These  differences  of  temperament  appear  in  con¬ 
nection  with  all  the  great  interests  of  life — curiosity  and  intel¬ 
lectual  interests  in  general ;  workmanship,  contrivance,  and 
aesthetic  expression ;  religious,  ethical,  and  political  interests ; 
and  acquisitive  interests  involving  subjective  standards  of  liv¬ 
ing,  ambition,  economic  emulation,  competition,  and  co-opera¬ 
tion.  Equally  important  temperamental  differences  exist  with 
regard  to  motivation  by  egotism  and  sympathy,  by  hope,  faith, 
loyalty,  suspicion,  distrust,  desire  for  distinction,  and  desire 
for  obscurity. 

Now  while  desire-obstruction  is  probably  the  source  of  all 
radicalism,  partly,  as  we  have  just  seen,  because  any  desire,  or 
proposition,  for  innovation  is  sure  to  be  opposed,  it  does  not 
follow  that  the  obstructed  desire  is  always  of  a  nature  which 
popular  ethical  parlance  would  call  “ self-seeking.’ ’  If  there 


134  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

,is  a  disinterested  conservatism,  it  is  quite  as  clear  that  there  is 
also  a  disinterested  radicalism. 

Indeed,  it  is  pertinent  to  ask  whether  there  is  a  type  of  radi¬ 
calism  corresponding  to  the  conservatism  of  direct,  self  interest, 
and  whether  “interested  radicalism”  should  he  set  apart  for  sep¬ 
arate  treatment  such  as  we  have  given  interested  conservatism. 

It  does  not  seem  necessary  or  even  feasible,  to  draw  so  sharp 
a  distinction  between  interest  and  disinterest  in  the  motivation 
of  radicalism  as  we  drew  in  the  analysis  of  conservatism.  This 
conclusion  may  seem  illogical  and  even  biased;  but  there  are 
compulsive  reasons  to  it. 

In  a  sense,  as  was  suggested  in  the  discussion  of  conservatism, 
all  human  conduct — both  “selfish”  and  “unselfish” — is  inter¬ 
ested,  for  we  always  follow  the  strongest  urge,  whatever  it  is, 
and  it  is  the  strongest  urge  which  practically  constitutes  the 
self  of  the  moment.  In  this  deepest  sense,  radicalism  as  well 
as  conservatism  is,  of  course,  “interested.”  But  in  a  less  recon¬ 
dite  sense,  most  radicalism  may  be  regarded  as  “interested.” 
Radicalism  is  a  product  of  discomfort ;  and  most  of  the  personal 
discomfort  which  drives  people  into  radical  movements  is  ma¬ 
terial,  financial,  maladjustment — a  conflict  between  their  sub¬ 
jective  standard  and  their  actual  level  of  living. 

It  should  not  be  held  against  radicalism  that  this  is  so,  or 
written  too  fully  to  the  credit  of  conservatism  that  there  are 
so  many  disinterested  conservatives.  For  it  is  difficult  not  to 
be  self-centered  when  you  are  suffering  from  balked  disposi¬ 
tions,  and  relatively  easy  to  be  tolerantly  urbane,  and  appre¬ 
ciative  of  the  beauty  and  balance  of  things-as-they-are  when 
things-as-they-are  make  you  pretty  comfortable. 

In  a  narrower  sense  still,  there,  is  some  grossly,  directly  self- 
seeking  radicalism,  and  some  dishonest  radicalism.  A  few  mem¬ 
bers  of  the  lowest  classes,  and  possibly  here  and  there  represen¬ 
tatives  of  other  classes,  are  radical  when  it  pays  to  be  so.  In 
times  and  places  where  militant  radicalism  is  in  control  there 
are  doubtless  many  individuals,  conservative  at  heart,  who 
simulate  an  insincere  radicalism  in  order  to  save  their  own 
interests,  perhaps  their  lives.  Revolutions  always  draw  in  their 
train  the  criminal  riffraff  who  love  to  fish  in  troubled  waters.11 


n  G.  Le  Bon,  The  Psychology  of  Revolution,  1913,  p.  99. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  135 

The  same  crowd  will  follow  any  counter  revolution.  Their 
existence  should  not  be  charged  against  either  radicalism  or 
conservatism. 

A  more  legitimate  illustration  of  self-interest  in  radicalism 
is  to  be  found  in  those  partial  radicalisms — radicalisms  ad  hoc 
— which  become  defined  whenever  conflicts  of  special  interests 
are  sufficiently  acute.  Here  may  be  mentioned  as  illustrations, 
the  radical  tendencies  of  the  cattlemen,  who,  in  their  fight 
against  the  meat  packers,  have  proposed  measures  radically  at 
variance  with  the  “American”  idea  of  non-interference  on  the 
part  of  the  government  with  business.  The  American  farmer, 
in  his  hitherto  futile  attempts  to  protect  himself  from  the  or¬ 
ganized  commercial  interests,  has  time  and  again  manifested 
this  ad  hoc  radicalism :  grange?  legislation,  greenbackism,  popu¬ 
lism,  free  silverism,  co-operative  marketing,  “un-American” 
agricultural  blocs  in  Congress,  non-partisan  leagues,  and  pro¬ 
posals  for  governmental  fixation  of  farm-product  prices,  are 
all  illustrative.  Incidentally  he  has  never  failed  to  be  roundly 
lectured  for  his  foolishness.  He  has  never  been  a  real  radical- 
from-principle,  however.  There  would  never  have  been  a  Non- 
Partisan  League  had  the  grain  dealers  not  pressed  the  wheat 
growers  a  trifle  beyond  the  limit  of  endurance. 

It  may  be,  however,  that  an  interest-group,  like  the  wheat- 
growers  or  the  cattlemen,  once  pushed  into  an  ad  hoc  radical 
channel  and  kept  there  for  some  time  by  the  obstinate  selfishness 
of  other  vested  interests,  will  become  used  to  the  idea  of  radical¬ 
ism  and  remain  at  least  “progressive”  even  after  the  special 
evils  they  fought  against  are  removed. 

Certain  types  of  radicalism  are  the  result  of  desperation,  of 
legitimate  desires  and  interests  so  chronically  balked,  of  such 
personal  insecurity  and  exploitation,  that  the  individual,  nor¬ 
mally  of  a  conservative  temperament,  may  be  goaded  into  a 
violently  radical  (usually  blame-anger  reflex)  attitude.  Such 
misery,  whether  it  arise  from  poverty  or  from  exploitation  and 
persecution,  may  lead  to  sympathetic  grouping  and  assimilation 
of  sentiment  among  large  numbers  of  people.  The  solidarity 
of  laboring  class  radicalism,  with  its  collective  sympathy  within 
the  working  classes,  may  be  regarded  as  a  sort  of  pooling  of 
individuals’  balked  desires.  The  lack  of  a  more  dependable 
solidarity  may  be  due  to  a  deficiency  in  sympathy  and  to  the 


136  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

hard  straggle  which  the  workers  are  constantly  compelled  to 
make  to  retain  living  standards  already  won.  Laboring  class 
radicalism  partakes  somewhat  of  the  characteristics  of  “gentle¬ 
men’s  agreements,”  and  as  is  always  likely  to  be  the  case  with 
snch  loosely  organized  interests,  there  are  always  some  who  will 
violate  the  agreement  as  soon  as  personal  advantage  is  to  be 
gained  by  so  doing.  The  average  radical  is  perhaps  no  better, 
and  no  worse,  than  the  average  conservative  in  this  regard. 

By  no  means  all  radicalism,  however,  even  in  the  lowly  rank 
and  file,  has  this  type  of  life-history  or  this  materialistic  motiva¬ 
tion.  Direct  personal  and  material  discomfort  may  be  the  most 
effective  motive  to  radical  desire-reinforcement,  but  it  is  by  no 
means  the  only  important  source  of  radicalism. 

There  is  a  spiritual  maladjustment,  a  vicarious  desire-obstruc¬ 
tion,  as  well.  The  obstructed  desire  which  produces  radicalism 
may  be,  and  often  is,  one  arising  from  sympathy,  rather  than 
any  form  of  narrow  selfishness.  Radicalism  is  then  due  to 
sympathetic  understanding  of  the  maladjustments,  the  untoward 
lot,  of  other  individuals.12 

A  social  radicalism  may  result  also  from  an  outraged  sense 
of  order,  of  economy  and  efficiency,  or  of  beauty,  not  in  regard 
to  matters  touching  the  immediate,  much  less  the  material, 

12 Mr.  Victor  F.  Yarros  (“Induction  and  Radical  Psychology,”  Psycho¬ 
logical  Review,  May,  1922)  criticizes  the  analysis  of  the  motivation  of 
radicalism  as  it  has  been  presented  in  this  chapter  and  as  it  first  ap¬ 
peared  in  practically  the  same  form  in  the  Psychological  Review,,  July, 
1921.  His  criticism  is  based  on  two  counts :  first,  that  analysis  of  radical 
motivation  should  be  inductive,  based  on  a  study  of  the  lives  of  great 
radicals,  whereas  the  present  analysis  follows  psychoanalytical  lines; 
and  second,  that  such  an  inductive  study  would  reveal  the  fact  that 
many  men  have  been  radical,  not  from  balked  disposition,  but  from  sym¬ 
pathy  and  intellectual  conviction  as  to  the  waste  and  inefficiency  of  the 
existing  order.  There  can  be  no  question  that  the  suggested  inductive 
study  should  be  made,  but  it  may  confidently'  be  anticipated  that  it  will 
reveal  in  every  radical  some  obstructed  desire,  though  he  may  not  be 
conscious,  as  Mr.  Yarros  apparently  is  not,  of  obstruction.  That  many 
men  and  women  are  radicals  from  sympathy,  and  from  intellectual  con¬ 
viction  as  to  waste  and  maladjustment  in  a  society  which  has  given 
them  materialistically  and  personally  little  to  complain  of,  was  noted  by 
the  present  writer  in  an  article  on  “Emotion,  Blame,  and  the  Scientific 
Attitude  in  Relation  to  Radical  Leadership  and  Method”  in  the  Interna¬ 
tional  Journal  of  Ethics,  January,  3922.  There  is  thus  little  difference 
between  Mr.  Yarros’s  views  and  those  of  the  present  writer,  who  is  as 
far  from  charging  all  radicals  of  materialistic  balked  desires  as  from 
holding  that  all  conservatives  are  calculatingly  selfish. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


137 


interests  of  the  individual,  but  in  regard  to  social  maladjust¬ 
ments  which  offend  the  (otherwise  comfortable)  individual’s 
sense  of  justice,  fitness,  and  balance.  This  is  cogently  put  by 
Achille  Loria.13 

“  It  is  unquestionably  one  of  the  strangest  of  anomalies  exhib¬ 
ited  by  the  polychrome  flora  of  human  thought  that  revolution¬ 
ary  blossoms  should  so  frequently  spring  from  aristocratic  seeds, 
and  that  the  most  incendiary  and  rebellious  spirits  should 
emerge  from  a  domestic  and  social  environment  compounded 
of  conservatism  and  reaction.  Yet  when  we  look  closely  into 
the  matter,  we  find  it  less  strange  than  it  may  have  appeared 
at  first  sight.  It  is,  in  fact,  not  difficult  to  understand  that 
those  only  who  live  in  a  certain  milieu  can  fully  apprehend  its 
vices  and  its  constitutional  defects,  which  are  hidden  as  by  a 
cloud  from  those  who  live  elsewhere.  It  is  true  enough  that 
many  dwellers  in  the  perverted  environment  lack  the  intelli¬ 
gence  which  would  enable  them  to  understand  its  defects. 
Others,  again,  are  induced  by  considerations  of  personal  ad¬ 
vantage  to  close  their  eyes  to  the  evils  they  discern,  or  cynically 
to  ignore  them.  But  if  a  man  who  grows  to  maturity  in  such 
an  environment  be  at  once  intelligent  and  free  from  base  ele¬ 
ments,  the  sight  of  the  evil  medium  from  which  he  himself  has 
sprung  will  arouse  in  his  mind  a  righteous  wrath,  and  a  spirit 
of  indomitable  rebellion  will  transform  the  easy-going  and 
cheerful  patrician  into  the  prophet  and  the  revolutionary.  Such 
has  been  the  lot  of  the  great  rebels  of  the  world,  of  men  like 
Dante,  Voltaire,  Byron,  Kropotkin,  and  Tolstoi,  who  all  sprang 
from  the  gentle  class,  and  whose  birthright  placed  them  among 
the  owners  of  property.” 

Most  radical  leaders,  from  whatever  rank  of  society  drawn, 
are  men  and  women  of  broad  sympathies  and  much  capacity 
for  self-sacrifice,  in  the  accepted  sense  of  the  term.  The  life 
of  the  radical  leader  is  not  usually  the  type  of  life  that  an 
inherently  selfish  individual  would  choose.14 

There  is  current  much  conservative  allusion  to  “  self-seeking 
agitators,”  sponging  off  the  rank  and  file,  which  should  be 
taken  for  what  it  is — propaganda, — but  it  cannot  be  gainsaid, 
on  the  other  hand,  that  some  radical  leaders  do  not  rise  above 

13  Karl  Marx,  1920,  pp.  37,  38. 

14  Cf„  for  illustration,  Ernest  Poole,  The  Harbor,  Ch.  8. 


138  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

narrowly  selfish  motivation.15  It  is  to  be  recognized  also,  that 
some  persons  join  radicalism  from  such  superficial  motives  as 
desire  for  momentary  distinction,  straining  after  originality 
through  difference  from  the  common  run  of  their  class,  or 
simply  because  radicalism  may  be  fashionable.  Doubtless  some 
intellectuals  have  been  drawn  into  radical  associations  and 
movements  not  so  much  from  spontaneous  sympathy  for  the 
working  masses  as  by  a  chance  to  escape  the  boredom  of  their 
class  and  to  experience  the  interest  of  the  novel  and  perhaps 
not  quite  “respectable.”  16 

In  spite  of  exceptions,  however,  it  remains  true  that  the 
average  social  radical  is  a  man  of  wider,  or  at  least  of  more 
intensive,  sympathies  than  is  the  average  well-to-do,  contented 
conservative.  Many  a  radical  leader  knows  from  personal 
experience  what  the  repressed  and  obstructed  desires  and  inter¬ 
ests  of  the  working  classes  are.  He  is  also  in  position  to  have 
a  keener  realization  of  the  divergence  which  exists  between 
social  activities  and  the  principles  which  are  supposed  to  under¬ 
lie  them  and  to  give  them  ethical  support. 

In  the  socio-economic  field,  narrowly  egoistic  interests  are 
not  likely  to  lead  to  a  sincere  radicalism,  the  real  radicalism 
of  principle;  at  most  they  may  lead  to  the  symbolical  radical¬ 
ism  resulting  from  random  transference,  mentioned  above. 
Social  radicalism,  while  it  quite  naturally  has  an  admixture  of 
motive  resulting  from  balked  personal  ambition,  is  mainly  the 
result  of  balked  social  sympathy  and  of  reflective  impatience 
with  existing  social  wastes  and  injustices.  No  one  can  say  truth¬ 
fully  that  the  world’s  great  radicals,  in  whatever  field,  have  not 
been  sincere,  or  that  they  have  opposed  the  established  order 
out  of  selfish  personal  motives.  The  way  of  the  non-conformist 
leader  is  never  so  easy  that  men  and  women  would  seek  it  from 
other  than  motives  of  high  idealism. 

15  See,  for  instance,  Ferrer,  The  Origin  and  Ideals  of  the  Modern 
School,  1913,  Ch.  1. 

16  Of.  J.  S.  Shapiro,  “The  Revolutionary  Intellectual,”  Atlantic 
Monthly,  June,  1920,  pp.  S20-S30. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  ORIGINS  AND  CHARACTERISTICS  OF  RADICALISM 

Thus  far  we  have  analyzed  only  the  more  individual  or 
personal  aspects  of  radical  motivation.  It  is  now  neces¬ 
sary  to  inquire  into  the  social  conditions  and  processes 
which  tend  to  create  the  situation  in  which  interests  are  seri¬ 
ously  obstructed  and  desire  for  innovation  stimulated.  Exami¬ 
nation  of  the,  social  sources  of  radicalism  will  throw  additional 
light  on  its  motivation. 

1.  The  Selection  of  Progressive  and  Radical  Types 
We  saw  in  Chapter  III  that  in  organic  evolution  and  social 
selection  are  to  be  found  certain  influences  tending  to  the  devel¬ 
opment  and  perpetuation  of  the  conservative  temperament. 
Once  a  species  has  become  adjusted  to  a  tolerably  stable  environ¬ 
ment,  natural  selection  continually  eliminates  the  individuals 
that  depart  far  from  the  structural  and  functional  norm 
appropriate  to  survival  and  success  in  that  environment.  In 
the  great  sweep  of  biological  and  anthropological  development 
man  has  been  no  exception  to  this  rule.  The  biologically  unfit 
perished.  And  when  the  stage  of  social  organization,  however 
crude  and  simple,  was  reached,  social  selection — the  elimination 
of  non-conformists — began.  It  is  well  to  keep  in  mind  that 
social  selection — especially  in  its  milder  types  currently  active 
in  civilized  societies — ordinarily  functions  not  so  much  by 
killing  out  the  undesired  individuals  and  types  as  by  placing 
them  under  such  handicap  that  they  are  deprived  of  success, 
prestige,  and  influence.1 

1  For  illustration,  take  the  situation  in  England  about  the  time  of  the 
Reform  Bill  of  1832,  “The  Whigs  formed  an  aristocracy  of  great  families 
exclusive  in  their  habits  and  associations,  and  representing  the  tastes 
of  the  old  regime.  The  new  men  (the  so-called  ‘Radicals’)  .  .  .  were 
no  congenial  associates  for  the  high-bred  politicians  who  sought  their 
votes,  but  not  their  company.  .  .  .  The  Whigs  held  all  the  offices,  and 
engrossed  every  distinction  which  public  service  and  aristocratic  con¬ 
nections  confer.”  May,  Contitutional  History  of  England,  1SG3,  Vol.  II, 
pp.  72,  73. 


139 


140  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

Not  always,  however,  is  the  selection,  survival,  and  success  of 
conservatives  favored  by  the  social  situation.  There  are  other 
aspects  of  the  selective  process. 

In  the  first  place  the  exceeding  multiplicity  of  nearly  related 
biological  species  and  genera  shows  that  many  different  types 
of  organism  can  be  adapted  to  the  same  environment.  The 
whole  process  of  organic  evolution,  especially  to  the  extent  that 
it  has  been  due  to  wide  mutations,  is  evidence  that  nature’s 
analogy  to  the  radical— the  biological  mutant — sometimes  is  far 
better  adjusted  to  environmental  exigencies  than  was  the  previ¬ 
ously  existing  type.  When  the  environment  changes,  readjust¬ 
ment  in  the  structure  and  functioning  of  the  species  is  necessary, 
with  the  result  that  what  would  have  be.en  in  the  old  environ¬ 
ment  aberrant  individuals  now  may  be  the  fittest  to  survive. 
Capacity  for  readjustment  becomes  a  prime  requisite  for  survi¬ 
val.  If  the  demands  of  the  environment  change  (for  instance 
through  physiographic  and  climatic  changes,  or  the  incoming 
of  new  organic  forms  through  immigration  or  successful  muta¬ 
tion),  the  requisites  for  survival  change,  and  survival  then  takes 
place  either  through  the  selection  of  new  types  or  through  the 
ontogenetic  re-adaptation  of  individuals  to  the  new  conditions.; 

It  is  not  desired  to  push  this  biological  analogy  very  far, 
nor  is  there  need  to  do  so.  Nevertheless  it  helps  to  an  under¬ 
standing  of  the  fact  that  there  are  occasions  on  which  the 
radical  stands  in  closer  relation  to  the  natural  order  of  things 
than  does  the  conservative. 

Many  persons  discount  the  historically  plain  fact  that  human 

society,  in  its  structure,  institutions,  and  processes,  is  by  no 

means  a  static,  changeless  thing,  but  on  the  contrary  highly 

changeable  and  dynamic.2  They  do  not  perceive  that  social 

institutions  and  relations,  in  their  present  form  the  result  of 

the  exceedingly  rapid  social  evolution  which  has  been  going 

on  in  the  century  and  a  half  since  the  political  and  industrial 

revolutions  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century,  can  hardly  be, 

expected  to  retain  their  present  outlines  indefinitely.  It  has 

• 

2  For  what  purports  to  be  a  scientific  view  of  the  psychology  of  radical¬ 
ism,  but  which  grossly  exaggerates  the  static  quality  of  human  society 
and  of  the  adjustment  of  human  psychological  reactions  to  a  fixed  social 
environment,  see  Stewart  Paton,  “The  Psychology  of  the  Radical,”  Yale 
Review,  Oct.,  1921,  pp.  89-101. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


141 


always  been  the  characteristic  of  shallow,  dogmatic  thought  to 
take  it  for  granted  that  the  social  organization  and  ideals  exist¬ 
ent  at  the  time  are  final,  and  that  sc  ml  change  and  evolution, 
except  for  minor  and  relatively  insignificant  details,  have  come 
to  an  end.3 

Changes  have  been  due  to  a  variety  of  causes.  Alterations 
in  the  physical  environment  have  been  widely  influential.4 
Transformations  in  productive  or  predatory  technique,  some¬ 
times  traceable  in  their  origin  to  climatic  changes,  more  often 
to  the  dynamic  influence  of  instincts  of  curiosity  and  contriv¬ 
ance,  constitute  a  second  group  of  causes.  Altered  relation 
between  the  size  of  the  population  and  natural  resources  has 
in  the  past  been  a  very  powerful  stimulus  to  social  change,5 
both  to  technical  progress  and  to  the  development  of  militaristic 
proclivities.  Many  other  factors,  some  doubtless  of  a  non¬ 
economic  character,  such  as  the  growth  of  science  and  scientific 
method,  the  progressive  rationalizing  of  the  higher  mental 
types,  the  rise  of  social  stratification,  and  the  development  of 
social  and  humanistic  ideals,  have  played  their  part. 

It  is  but  judicial,  therefore,  to  realize  and  admit  that  the 
requisites  for  social  survival  and  success  have  in  the  past  been 
subject  to  change,  and  at  times  to  revolutionary  transforma¬ 
tion.  What  Elizabethan  courtier,  for  instance,  would  feel  at 
home  in  the  present  court  of  St.  James?  What  mediaeval  seig¬ 
neur  in  contemporary  rural  France  ?  What  seventeenth  century 
guildsman  at  the  council  table  of  the  American  Federation  of 
Labor?  Or  what  East  Prussian  junker  in  the  Berlin  of  to-day? 
There  is  no  reason  to  think  that  the  requisites  for  adaptation 
are  not  changing  to-day  as  rapidly  as  at  any  time  in  history. 

Generally  speaking,  those  societies  and  those  individuals 
lacking  in  power  of  flexible  adjustment  are  at  a  disadvantage.6 

3  Even  radicals  are  not  free  from  this  “finality”  sentiment,  as  concerns 
the  state  of  society,  once  their  particular  reforms  or  revolutions  are 
accomplished.  See  William  Clarke,  “Political  Defects  of  the  Old  Radi¬ 
calism,”  Political  Science  Quarterly,  March,  1899. 

4  See  Elswortli  Huntington,  Civilization  and  Climate ,  1915. 

6  Cf .  Spencer,  Principles  of  Biology,  18(>6,  Vol.  II,  Ch.  13,  Sec.  373,  374. 

“A  classic  exposition,  one  of  the  clearest  ever  penned,  of  the  need  of 
flexibility  is  that  by  Walter  Bagehot,  a  conservative,  in  Ch.  2  of  his 
Physics  and  Politics.  Although  written  in  18G9,  it  may  still  be  read  with 
profit. 


142  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

Static  conservatism  in  a  dynamic  environment  is  always  fighting 
a  losing  battle.  The  progressive  and  radical  attitudes  thus  have 
an  important  function  to  perform  in  the  social  evolutionary 
process — the  function  of  furthering  necessary  readjustments. 

Given  an  individual  with  certain  potential  capacities,  given 
an  environment  with  a  certain  wealth  or  poverty  of  resources, 
of  opportunity,  and  of  stimulus,  free  and  effective  functioning, 
and  the  happiness  which  comes  from  it,  are  conditioned  by  the 
degree  of  adjustment  between  the  individual  and  the  environ¬ 
ment.  Were  the  environment  changeless,  the  problem  could  be 
solved  once  for  all  by  the  genetic  selection  of  adaptable  stocks 
and  by  the  ontogenetic  habituation  of  their  individual  represen¬ 
tatives  to  the  static  society  into  which  they  were  born.  The  prob¬ 
lem  would  be  simply  that  of  maintaining  a  status  quo  from 
generation  to  generation.  But  no  such  changeless  environment 
exists.  Even  those  would-be  hermit  groups  or  nations  which 
might  prefer,  like  China,  to  be  let  alone,  to  pursue  undisturbed 
the  ways  of  their  fathers,  are  not  permitted  the  peace,  the  som¬ 
nolence,  of  isolation.  The  rest  of  the  world  compels  them  to 
break  their  shell.  The  world  has  reached  such  a  stage  of 
technological  interdependence  that  they  cannot  maintain 
their  isolation.  The  Western  World  cannot,  if  it  would, 
prevent  its  dynamic  unrest  from  filtering  out  to  the  ends  of 
the  earth. 

In  a  static  society,  restless  radical  temperaments,  if  they 
appeared  at  all,  would  be  repressed  into  submissive  conformity. 
In  a  dynamic  state  no  such  policy  of  suppression  can  succeed. 
In  the  long  run  it  will  produce  catastrophic  revolution  in  the 
place  of  evolutionary  readaptation. 

In  fact,  a  policy  of  repression  can  succeed  only  for  a  time 
even  in  a  relatively  static  society.  The  great  mass  of  men  may 
perhaps  be  habituated  for  a  time  to  any  kind  of  social  organiza¬ 
tion,  even  one,  of  slavery  and  tyranny.  Always,  however,  obscure 
currents  of  malcontent,  restlessness,  and  aspiration  work  their 
way  through  portions  of  the  population.  If  they  do  not  break 
through  to  the  surface  in  some  spontaneous  movement  of  reform, 
soone,r  or  later  some  temperamental  radical  appears  on  the 
scene,  with  vision,  with  daring,  with  dynamic  stimulative  energy, 
to  focus  and  make  articulate  the  undertones  of  unrest;  and  a 
revolt  movement,  long  in  unseen  gestation,  is  born  with  a  sud- 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


143 


denness  stunning  to  the  contented,  unambitious,  and  unimagina¬ 
tive  conservatives. 

The  ‘'great  man,”  however,  is  not  the  cause;  he  is  but  the 
expression  of  radicalism,  of  the  hitherto  inarticulate  and  unor¬ 
ganized  desire  for  readjustment.  The  real  cause  lies  in  a  pro¬ 
gressive  maladjustment  in  institutional  organization  and  pro¬ 
cess,  and  in  a  shifting  of  internal,  spiritual  needs.  Both  the 
individual  and  the  social  environment  undergo  change,  but  not 
always  at  the  same  rate,  or  in  the  same  direction.  The  balking 
of  desire  and  interest,  to  which  we  have  traced  the  main  moti¬ 
vation  of  radicalism,  is  in  large  degree  the  result  of  social 
changes  altering  the  demands  made  upon  the  individual. 

These  demands  change  more  for  some  classes  than  for  others. 
Some  sections  of  the  population  are  relatively  exempt  from 
institutional  changes  which  cause  a  profound  transformation  in 
the  position  of  other  sections.7  The  Industrial  Revolution,  for 
example,  produced  a  much  more  sweeping  change  in  the  lot  of 
the  working  class  than  it  did  in  that  of  the  landed  aristocracy. 
The  introduction  of  labor-saving  devices  not  infrequently  throws 
a  whole  craft  into  unemployment,  but  causes  hardly  a  ripple  of 
adversity  on  the  life  of  those  modern  absentee  owners,  the  hold¬ 
ers  of  corporation  securities.  This  difference  in  the  directness 
and  intensity  with  which  outward  changes  impinge  upon  differ¬ 
ent  classes  goes  far,  as  Veblen  points  out,  to  account  for  the  per¬ 
sistence  of  conservatism  in  the  "industrially  exempt”  classes 
and  the  growth  of  unrest  and  radicalism  in  those  classes  upon 
whom  falls  the  major  force  of  change  in  industrial  organization 
or  technological  process. 

Those  not  exposed  to  the  new  conditions  are  exempt  from  the 
necessity  for  readjustment;  they  are  not  made  immediately 
uncomfortable  by  the  change;  hence  they  see  no  need  of  social 
or  ethical  readjustment,  and  remain  conservative.  Those  ex¬ 
posed  to  the  full  force  of  the  altered  environment  have  to 
readjust  their  habits  and  point  of  view. 

"Anyone  who  is  required  to  change  his  habits  of  life  and  his 
habitual  relations  to  his  fellow  men  will  feel  the  discrepancy 
between  the  method  of  life  required  of  him  by  the  newly  arisen 
exigencies,  and  the  traditional  scheme  of  life  to  which  he  is 


•  see  Veblen,  The  Theory  of  the  Leisure  Class,  1899,  Ch.  8. 


144  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

accustomed.  It  is  the  individuals  placed  in  this  position  who' 
have  the  liveliest  incentive  to  reconstruct  the  received  scheme 
of  life  and  are  most  readily  persuaded  to  accept  new  standards ; 
and  it  is  through  the  need  of  the  means  of  livelihood  that  men 
are  placed  in  such  a  position.  ”*  8 

But  this  explanation  of  the,  difference  in  the  attitudes  of  dif¬ 
ferent  individuals  and  classes,  while  it  undoubtedly  hits  upon 
the  main  line  of  causation,  does  not  tell  the  whole  story.  Ex¬ 
ternal  pressure,  chiefly  of  an  economic  sort,  is  the  same  as  the 
tl  obstruction  ’  ’  to  wish-fulfillment  which  we  have  treated  as 
the  central  psychological  cause  of  radicalism.  But  we  have  not 
closed  the  door  to  the  recognition  of  temperamental  radicalism 
and  conservatism — born  radicals  and  born  conservatives.9 
Periods  of  rapid  change  in  economic  technique,  in  shifting  of 
influence  and  power  from  one  section  of  the  people  to  another, 
and  in  material  standards  and  manner  of  living,  will  inevitably 
give  freer  scope  to  these  nervous,  restless  temperaments,  which 
in  more  static  conditions  have  little  opportunity  to  express  their 
restlessness  in  an  articulate  or  organized  manner. 

That  there  is  a  valid  distinction  between  the  phlegmatic  tem¬ 
perament,  not  easily  rendered  prey  to  discontent,  and  the  alert, 
nervous  temperament,  quick  to  irritation  by  stimuli  or  condi¬ 
tions  which  have  little  effect  upon  the  easy-going,  few  wfil  be 
disposed  to  question.  There  is  good  ground  in  the  facts  of 
physiological  psychology,  imperfect  as  our  knowledge  in  this 
field  is  as  yet,  for  such  a  distinction.  It  is  popularly  known 
that  a  dyspeptic  or  a  man  suffering  from  over-fatigue  is  very 
likely  to  be  “  touchy,  ”  irascible,  and  difficult  to  please.  It  is 
known,  too,  that  variations  in  the  secretions  of  the  various  duct¬ 
less  glands,  especially  the  thyroid  and  adrenal,  produce  profound 
changes  in  metabolism,  in  physical  health,  and  in  emotional  tone. 
Attitudes,  including  conservatism  and  radicalism,  are  the  result 
of  complexes  of  instinct,  emotion,  and  habit.  All  of  these  have 
their  physical  basis  in  body  structure  and  process.  It  would 
not  be  strange,  therefore,  were  it  ultimately  demonstrated  that 

8  Veblen,  The  Theory  of  the  Leisure  Class,  1S99,  p.  195. 

8  It  should  be  noted  that  Veblen  also  keeps  in  mind  the  fact  that  there 
may  be  in  a  changing  society  a  selection  of  conservative  or  radical 

types,  as  well  as  ontogenetic  adaptation  of  individuals  to  changing  con¬ 
ditions. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


145 


the  glands,  and  the  autonomic  nervous  system,  developed  to 
different  degrees  of  functional  activity  in  different  individuals, 
were  in  large  part  responsible  for  difference  in  emotional  type 
and  temperamental  attitude.  The  more  sensitive,  keyed-up,  and 
active  the  individual  is  made  by  excessive  secretion  of  his  thy¬ 
roid  or  adrenal  glands,  for  instance,  the  more  likely  he  is  to  be 
critical  of  his  surroundings  and  irritated  by  them.  He  is  not 
inclined,  indeed,  oftentimes  not  able,  to  take  desire-obstruction 
with  the  same  philosophical  or  cynical  equanimity  with  which 
more  phlegmatic  persons  meet  it.10 

Frink,  an  able  psychoanalyst,  sees  a  direct  connection  between 
high  nervous  tension  and  radicalism: 

“It  is  nothing  to  the  discredit  of  any  movement  to  say  that 
perhaps  many  of  its  conspicuous  supporters  are  neurotics,  for 
as  a  matter  of  fact  it  is  the  neurotics  that  are  pioneers  in  most 
reforms.  The  very  normal  people  who  have  no  trouble  in 
adjusting  themselves  to  their  environment,  are  as  a  rule  too 
sleek  in  their  own  contentment  to  fight  hard  for  any  radical 
changes,  or  even  to  take  much  interest  in  seeing  such  changes 
made.  To  lead  and  carry  through  successfully  some  new  move¬ 
ment  or  reform,  a  person  requires  the  constant  stimulus  of  a 
chronic  discontent  (at  least  it  often  seems  so)  and  this  in  a 
certain  number  of  instances  is  surely  of  neurotic  origin  and 
signifies  an  imperfect  adaptation  of  that  individual  to  his  envi¬ 
ronment.  Genius  and  neurosis  are  perhaps  never  very  far 
apart,  and  in  many  instances  are  expressions  of  the  same 
tendency.* 11 

We  need  not  go  so  far  as  Frink  does  in  this  suggestion,  yet 
that  there  is  a  casual  relation  between  nervousness  and  radical¬ 
ism  cannot  well  be  doubted. 

2.  Radicalism  as  an  Impulse  to  Freedom. 

To  great  extent,  especially  at  junctures  necessitating  choice, 
human  beings  act  as  if  they  were  driven  by  two  fundamentally 

10  On  the  relation  of  the  ductless  glands  to  emotional  tone,  see  Watson, 
Psychology  from  the  Standpoint  of  a  Behaviorist,  1919,  pp.  1S1-193,  219- 
22G.  For  fuller  exposition  see :  S.  W.  Bandler,  The  Endocrines ,  1921 ;  L. 
Berman,  The  Glands  Regulating  Personality ,  1922;  W.  B.  Cannon,  Bodily 
Changes  in  Pain ,  Hunger  and  Rage,  1920;  Benjamin  Harrow,  Glands  in 
Health  and  Disease,  1922 ;  E.  J.  Kempf,  Psychopathology,  1920. 

11  Morbid  Fears  and  Compulsions,  1918,  p.  130. 


146  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 


opposed  motives — fear  and  courage.  Fear  means  the  impulse 
to  seek  safety;  courage  implies  impulses  to  self-expression  and 
the  desire  for  freedom.  These  fundamental  tendencies  and  some 
of  their  derivatives  may  be  contrasted  in  some  such  tabular 
form  as  the  following : 


Fear 

timidity 

self-abasement 

acquiescence 

indifference 

avoidance 

imitation 

seeking  safety 


Courage 

aggressiveness 

self-assertion 

resistance 

interest 

curiosity 

contrivance,  workmanship, 
innovation 
seeking  freedom 


With  the  radical,  whether  he  be  so  from  external  circumstance 
or  from  temperament,  the  desire  for  freedom  is  stronger  and 
more  active  than  in  the  conservative,  because  the  conservative 
either  sets  a  lower  valuation  on  freedom  or  represses  his  desire 
for  it. 

There  are  many  reasons  for  thinking  that  desire  for  freedom 
is  the  ultimate,  though  not  always  conscious  or  expressed,  motive 
to  most  radicalisms.  There  is  every  reason  to  suppose,  also,  that 
as  life  becomes  more  rationalized,  the  demand  for  freedom  will 
undergo  growth  in  amplitude  and  intensity.  The  demands  that 
individuals,  especially  the  working  classes,  make  on  life  are 
constantly  increasing.  The  objective  standard  of  living  has 
been  rising,  at  least  if  we  take  long  enough  periods  for  compari¬ 
son,  but  subjective  standards — the  way  people  think  they  ought 
to  live — have  been  rising  much  more  rapidly  and  persistently.12 

It  is  impossible  to  put  a  definite  limit  on  aspiration,  to  say 

12  If  we  take  only  the  period  since  1890  in  the  United  States  the  rise 
in  the  objective  standard  of  living  is  problematical.  The  most  painstak¬ 
ing  statistical  analyses,  while  they  leave  much  to  be  desired  with  regard 
to  the  sufficiency  of  their  data,  reveal  no  increase.  See  especially,  I.  M. 
Rubinow,  “The  Recent  Trend  of  Real  Wages,”  American  Economic  Re¬ 
view,  Dec.,  1914,  pp.  798-817 ;  H.  P.  Fairchild,  “The  Standard  of  Living — 
Up  or  Down,”  American  Economic  Review,  Mar.,  1916,  pp.  9-25 ;  F.  W. 
Jones,  “Real  Wages  in  Recent  Years,”  American  Economic  Revieiv,  June, 
1917,  pp.  318-330;  P.  H.  Douglas  and  Frances  Lamberson,  “The  Move¬ 
ment  of  Wages,  1890-1918,”  American  Economic  Review ,  Sept.,  1921,  pp. 
409-426. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


147 


that  the  actual  living  standard  can  rise  so  high  and  no  higher; 
and  there  is  no  inherent  reason  why  the  working  classes  should 
be  satisfied  with  any  particular  standard,  e.g.,  with  a  “living” 
wage. 

The  more  control  we  acquire  over  nature,  the  greater  the 
development  of  our  technological  productive  power,  the  more 
education,  culture,  and  opportunity  we  have,  the  more  we 
demand.  Those  who  get  a  real  taste  of  the  cup  of  life  wish  to 
drink  ever  deeper.  With  the  one  great  exception  of  war- — and 
perhaps  even  there — the  world  appears  to  become  less  tolerant 
of  waste  and  maladjustments  which  impair  the  value  of  living. 
Even  in  complacent,  tolerant  America,  long  so  sentimental  about 
“our  exhaustless  natural  resources,”  and  still  of  all  the  leading 
western  nations  the  most  careless  of  human  life,  such  diverse 
movements  as  prohibition,  conservation  of  forests,  child  welfare, 
reduction  of  infant  mortality,  the  Sheppard-Towner  Maternity 
Act,  and  the  Federated  Engineering  Societies’  Report  on 
“Waste  in  Industry,”13  show  a  strong  and  healthy  tendency  to 
increased  demand  on  life  and  on  the  efficiency  of  social  organi¬ 
zation  and  control. 

The  growth  of  population  and  the  revolutionary  rapidity  of 
change  in  economic  technique  and  organization  since  the  Indus¬ 
trial  Revolution  have  brought  a  host  of  new  evils,  but  we  no 
longer  regard  them  with  fatalistic  resignation  as  unavoidable 
visitations  of  a  disciplinary  Providence.  This  growing  intoler¬ 
ance  of  evil,  and  these  increasing  demands  on  life,  are  but 
illustration,  in  both  material  and  spiritual  realms,  of  what  the 
political  economists  long  ago  discovered  as  the  “expansibility 
of  human  wants.”  The  truth  of  this  concept  was  much  larger, 
however,  than  the  economists  imagined.  Wants  have  not  only 
indefinitely  expanded,  but  have  deepened  in  intensity,  and,  in 
spite  of  some  indications  to  the  contrary,  probably  in  refine¬ 
ment.  The  expansion  of  wants  is  by  no  means  confined  to  the 
realm  of  material  commodities  and  services. 

A  little  reflection  on  the  trend  of  social  history  for  the  past 
hundred,  and  especially  the  past  twenty,  years  will  suggest  some 
of  the  main  causes  of  this  modern  expansion  and  intensification 
of  desire  and  interest,  and  the  attendant  persistent  demand  for 


13  New  York,  1921. 


148  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

greater  individual  freedom.  The  labor  movement,  the  woman 
movement,  the  movement  for  constitutional  democracy,  the 
demand  for  the  rationalization  and  democratization  of  family 
relations,  the  revolt  against  the  narrower  Puritanism  in  art, 
morals,  and  literature,  the  fight  now  being  waged  again  against 
those  who  would  shackle  freedom  of  speech,  press,  and  assembly 
— all  these  are  among  the  expressions  of  this  demand  for  free¬ 
dom,  itself  in  large  part  the  result  of  expansion,  refinement, 
and  rationalizing  of  desire  and  capacity  to  live. 

We  live  in  a  larger  world  to-day  and  know  more  about  it. 
Communication,  cheap  printing,  almost  universal  literacy,  have 
made  the  masses  immensely  more  alert  and  more  aware  of  their 
relative  situation  than  they  ever  were  before.  Public  education 
has  formed  the  basis  not  only  of  industrial  efficiency,  but  of 
industrial  unrest.  The  growth  of  democracy  and  the  doctrinaire 
emphasis,  in  America  at  least,  on  individual  worth  have  made 
the  working  masses  resentful  of  class  distinctions.14  This  resent¬ 
ment,  positively  formulated  as  demand  for  equality  of  oppor¬ 
tunity  and  the  elimination  of  waste  and  exploitation,  has  been 
furthered  by  a  host  of  organizations  and  propagandas,  each  in 
its  way  an  educative  influence.  Authoritarianism  has  broken 
down.  Except  where  the  expediencies  of  social  conflict  bring 
it  back  in  the  form  of  party  discipline — especially  in  the  social¬ 
ist  parties — its  place  is  taken  by  a  developing  rationalizing  of 
life.  The  decay  of  religious  and  moral  authoritarianism  gives 
the  emotional  capacities  of  man  freer  scope,  and  this  leads  to  a 
keenly  felt  conflict  between  established  norms  and  the  demands 
of  the  personality. 

14  Karl  Kautsky,  in  a  recent  work,  expresses  some  doubt  as  to  the  influ¬ 
ence  of  democracy :  “Democracy  develops  mass  organizations  involving 
immense  administrative  work ;  it  calls  on  the  citizen  to  discuss  and  solve 
numerous  questions  of  the  day,  often  of  the  most  trivial  kind.  The  whole 
of  the  free  time  of  the  proletariat  is  more  and  more  taken  up  with  petty 
details,  and  its  attention  occupied  by  passing  events.  The  mind  is  con¬ 
tracted  within  a  narrow  circle.  Ignorance  and  even  contempt  for  theory, 
opportunism,  in  place  of  broad  principles,  tend  to  get  the  upper  hand. 

.  .  .  On  the  other  hand  the  degenerating  influence  of  democracy  on  the 
proletariat  need  not  be  exaggerated.  Often  it  is  the  consequence  of  lack 
of  leisure  from  which  the  proletariat  suffers,  not  of  democracy  itself. 

.  .  .  On  the  contrary,  the  antagonisms  in  capitalist  society  become 
more  acute  and  tend  to  provoke  bigger  conflicts,  in  this  way  forcing 
great  problems  on  the  attention  of  the  proletariat,  and  taking  its  mind 
off  routine  and  daily  work.’’  The  Dictatorship  of  the  Proletariat,  pp. 
38-40. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


149 


It  is  to  be  remembered,  moreover,  that  the  personality,  and 
the  desires  and  interests  which  characterize  it,  are  in  great 
measure  the  result  of  imitation  and  emulation.  In  a  definite 
class  or  caste  system  the  range  of  emulation  is  strictly  limited 
by  class  lines.  The  amplitude  of  desires  and  interests  for  any 
given  class,  especially  the  lower  classes,  is  circumscribed.  Habit¬ 
uation  to  status  precludes  the  rise  of  wants  which  are  normal 
to  classes  above.  There  may,  in  consequence,  be  but  slight  devel¬ 
opment  of  a  consciousness  of  unfreedom  and  little  apparent 
discontent  or  restlessness.  As  soon,  however,  as  even  vague 
intimations  of  democracy  dawn  upon  a  people,  and  class  lines 
become  less  keen-cutting,  class  itself  becomes  a  powerful  stimu¬ 
lus  to  unrest.  For  now  imitation  can  cross  class  boundaries; 
it  becomes  emulation  in  one  of  its  most  virulent  forms.  The  high 
regard  in  which  prestige  models,  consciously  or  unconsciously 
supplied  by,  and  embodied  in,  the  upper  classes,  are  held,  fans 
the  emulative  desires  to  an  intensity  beyond  all  opportunity 
for  their  realization.  However  much  the  upper  classes  may 
prize  exclusiveness  and  isolation,  they  nevertheless,  from  com¬ 
mercial  motives,  encourage  this  emulation,  through  types  of 
advertising  that  make  insistent  appeal  to  the  emulative  ambi¬ 
tions  of  the  classes  lower  down  in  the  social  and  economic 
scale. 

Thus  useless  and  conspicuous  expenditure  is  encouraged,  sub¬ 
jective  standards  of  living  rendered  more  elaborate  and  preten¬ 
tious,  and  great  masses  of  people  are  brought  to  sharpened 
discontent  with  their  financial  limitations.  Here  is  a  social 
significance  of  the  doctrine  of  comparative  poverty  that  is 
sometimes  overlooked.  The  individual  compares  his  lot  not  with 
that  of  his  grandfather  but  with  that  of  living  contemporaries. 
Democracy,  therefore,  in  conjunction  with  our  so-called  “open” 
classes,  is  itself  bound  to  contribute  to  unrest,  at  least  as  long 
as  it  is  not  deeply  enough  founded  to  lift  self-respect  above  the 
superficial  level  of  emulative  waste.16 

Formal  education  also  plays  its  part  in  the  expansion  of 
interest  and  the  creation  of  desire  for  greater  scope  and  free¬ 
dom,  and  this  in  spite  of  the  superficiality  and  pose  of  much  of 


15  Cf.  Cooley,  Social  Organization,  1909,  Cli.  20,  21;  Sidney  and  Bea¬ 
trice  Webb,  A  Constitution  for  the  Socialist  Commonwealth  of  Great 
Britain ,  1920,  pp.  59,  00. 


150  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

our  life  and  the  shoddy  character  of  much  of  our  educational 
fabric. 

In  spite  of  many  indications  to  the  contrary,  it  is  safe  to  say, 
generally  speaking,  that  people  to-day — perhaps  even  in  Gopher 
Prairie — are  characterized  by  more  alert  sensitiveness,  broader 
and  more  rational  appreciation,  and  greater  disinclination  to 
submit  to  unnecessary  repression  or  sublimation  of  legitimate 
desires  than  ever  before.  In  every  social  rank  and  field  of 
human  interest,  there  is  more  sophistication,  more  savoir  faire, 
more  tendency  toward  critical  rationalism,  more  questioning  of 
the  credentials  of  inherited  authority.  If  we  live  in  a  period 
of  revolt,  we  are  also  the  beneficiaries  of  an  age  of  enlighten¬ 
ment.  We  are  thus  the  heirs  to  a  more  alert  and  stereoscopic 
awareness  and  a  less  easily  opiated  or  discouraged  idealism  than 
was  the  immediately  preceding  generation. 

It  is  clear  that  these  liberalizing  processes  and  attitudes, 
which  are  so  prominent  a  feature  of  our  life  to-day,  cannot  but 
greatly  increase  the  probability  and  the  prevalence  of  desire- 
obstruction.  The  greater  the  range  of  an  individual’s  contacts 
and  experience,  the  more  likely,  at  least  within  a  certain  limit 
of  culture,  he  is  to  encounter  objective  obstruction,  and  hence 
balking  of  his  now  multiplied  and  developed  interests.  And 
the  more  he  is  removed  from  domination  by  irrational  or  super- 
rational  controls  and  authorities,  the  more  the  natural  sponta¬ 
neity  of  his  temperament  will  be  in  evidence,  and  the  more  he 
will  demand  freedom.  This  may  go  to  lengths  destructive  of 
all  discipline  or  sense  of  social  responsibility,  or  on  the  other 
hand,  may  lead  toward  a  clearer  conception  of  the  necessity  for 
cordial  and  effective  social  co-operation.  But  that  is  beside  the 
present  point.  Whether  expansion  of  interests  and  of  desire 
for  freedom  leads  to  anarchy  or  to  social  processes  better  adapted 
to  serve  human  needs,  the  great  probability  remains  that  desire- 
obstruction,  and  thence  radical  sentiments,  will  multiply. 

On  the  other  hand,  we  must  not  overlook  the  fact  that  there 
are  some  temperaments  which  seem  instinctively  to  dread  experi¬ 
ence.  In  individuals  who  approximate  this  type,  experience 
may  engender  both  a  poignant  fear  of  living  and  a  desire  for 
more  freedom,  a  craving  to  escape  their  own  timidity  in  the 
presence  of  life.  In  times  of  rapid  social  evolution,  when  con¬ 
ventions  and  moral  emphasis  are  changing  with  confusing  quick- 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


151 


ness,  such  individuals  are  the  victims  of  an  intense  inner  conflict. 
Whether  experience  will  give  them  courage  and  impulse  to 
desire-reinforcement,  or  intensify  their  timidity  and  their 
tendency  to  repression  and  conservative  sublimation,  cannot  be 
told  beforehand. 

The  chief  barrier  to  the  multiplication  and  refinement  of 
interests  is  fear.  Other  things  being  equal,  the  more  an  indi¬ 
vidual  is  governed  by  instinctive,  primitive  fears  and  traditional 
superstitions,  the  more  closely  he  will  keep  within  a  limited 
range  and  familiar  routine  of  sentiment  and  action,  and  the 
more  he  will  withdraw  from  the  supposedly  dangerous  influence 
of  ideas  and  associations. 

Specialization  and  isolation  have  this  narrowing  and  deaden¬ 
ing  influence,  as  can  be  observed  in  backward  agricultural 
communities,  in  groups  kept  closely  within  the  discipline  of 
economic  or  ecclesiastical  sects,  and  even  in  business  and  aca¬ 
demic  circles  where  narrow  specialization  is  the  price  paid  for 
“success. ”  To  fear  and  specialization,  as  well  as  to  visionless 
selfishness,  can  be  attributed  the  dead-level  monotony  and  phil¬ 
istinism  characteristic  of  much  of  our  middle-class  life,  of  the 
“domestic  virtues,”  of  “Gopher  Prairie-ism”  wherever  found, 
and  even  of  certain  academic  communities. 

To  the  extent,  however,  that  a  really  liberalizing  education, 
observant  travel,  diversity  of  social  contact,  and  broad-minded, 
courageous  journalism  multiply  the  stimuli  to  which  the  individ¬ 
ual  is  subjected,  and  force  him  to  select  ideas,  attitudes,  and 
responses — in  brief,  to  the  extent  that  narrow  routine  habitua¬ 
tion  is  broken  in  upon — fear  becomes  rationalized,  and  with 
rationalization  diminishes. 

The  obstacles  to  freedom  are  thus  both  subjective  and  objec¬ 
tive,  but  the  subjective  are  not  likely  to  diminish  unless  there 
is  some  diminution  of,  or  escape  from,  the  objective  obstructions 
to  the  free  unfolding  of  the  human  personality. 

Only  the  exceptionally  privileged  are  in  position  to  escape  in 
large  measure  these  quite  often  irrational  and  wasteful  external 
obstructions.  Wealth  confers  the  opportunity — too  often  left 
unutilized — to  develop  capacity  for  spontaneous  expression  of 
the  positive  creative  impulses  of  workmanship,  curiosity,  and 
aesthetic  appreciation.  It  is  no  strange  fact,  then,  that  the 
demand  for  economic  opportunity  has  always  been  at  the  center 


152  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

of  radical  programs,  or  that  temperamental  radicals  set  a  very 
high  value  on  freedom,  and  are  always  skeptical  of  the  necessity 
or  value  of  making  “the  social  compromise.” 

The  main  sources  of  desire-obstruction  under  modern  circum¬ 
stances  may  now  be  passed  briefly  in  review. 

The  first  limitation  on  the  fulfillment  of  desires  and  interests 
is  the  limitation  of  material  opportunity,  or  wealth,  which  arises 
from  restricted  supply  of  natural  agents  and  the  finite  character 
of  man’s  control  over  nature.  The  orthodox  economists  of  the 
past  never  tired  of  pointing  out  the  significance  of  these  limita¬ 
tions.  On  the  “niggardliness”  of  nature  they  built  up  the 
“dismal  science”  against  which  Carlyle  and  later  the  socialists 
thundered,  not  always  without  telling  effect.  To-day,  without 
accepting  the  excessive  optimism  of  the  utopian  socialists  as  to 
the  possibilities  of  indefinitely  lightening  the  toil  and  expanding 
the  income  of  the  masses,  we  are  not  so  pessimistic  as  were  the 
classical  economists  as  to  the  kind  of  living  the  world  can  reason¬ 
ably  be  expected  to  yield  to  the  general  population — so  long  as 
population  is  kept,  by  means  of  birth  control,  within  reasonable 
limits  as  to  size  and  quality.  We  realize  our  tremendous  produc¬ 
tive  powers,  given  only  an  efficient  organization  and  proper 
motivation,  and  we  think  less  of  the  conflict  with  nature  than 
the  race  has  ever  thought  before.  Before  the  development  of 
modern  industry,  toil  was  more  generally  long  and  exhaust¬ 
ing  than  it  is  now.  A  much  larger  percentage  of  the  population 
than  now  had  to  work  hard  for  a  living,  and  practically  their 
whole  time  was  taken  up  with  the  demands  of  physical  exist¬ 
ence.  Interests  were  narrow  and  simple ;  neither  the  intellectual 
nor  the  emotional  life  was  as  complex  as  it  is  to-day,  nor  had  it 
need  to  be  so.  On  the  part  of  the  men,  at  least,  there  was  far 
less  occasion  for  balked  interests  than  there  is  to-day,  largely 
because  attention  had  to  be  concentrated  upon  the  business  of 
subsistence. 

Under  such  circumstances  the  typical  blame-and-anger  reac¬ 
tion  of  balked  desire  could  not  ordinarily  take  place.  If  the 
crops  were  poor,  or  if  a  storm  at  sea  wiped  out  a  fishing  fleet, 
there  was  no  one  to  blame  but  the  gods — or  God — and  blaming 
the  gods  is  dangerous  business.  Hence  resignation  to  the 
inevitable. 

Technical  progress  has  lightened  toil,  greatly  reduced  man’s 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


153 


bondage  to  nature,  and  given  him  comparative  leisure  and  a 
wider  range  of  wants  and  interests.  His  dependence  on  nature 
is  of  course  admitted  once  for  all,  but  is  regarded  rather  as  a 
truism  than  as  a  problem.  His  attention  is  freed  for  other 
than  physical  subsistence  needs  and  is  more  spontaneously 
directed  to  social  affairs.  His  interests  now  develop  faster  than 
his  opportunities ;  conflicts  of  wants  now  appear  in  greater  force 
and  variety  between  social  strata  and  classes,  and  the  obstruc¬ 
tions  to  wish-fulfillment  consequently  multiply. 

The  second,  social,  and  infinitely  more  effective,  source  of 
balked  interests  is  thus  opened  up.  Combative  impulses,  anger, 
and  blame  now  assert  themselves  against  the  obstructions  placed 
in  one ’s  way  by  other  individuals  and  other  classes.  Limitations 
on  individual  liberty  all  seem  to  be  due  to  the  unfair  aggression 
or  obstructionist  attitudes  of  other  people. 

This  seeming  is  in  part  truth,  but  only  in  part.  For  much 
of  the  restriction  of  freedom  and  opportunity  is,  and  will 
always  remain,  due  to  limitations  on  our  utmost  power  to 
utilize  material  nature.  Where  the  dividing  line  between 
natural  limitations  and  restrictions  due  to  social  maladjust¬ 
ments  lies  no  one  can  state  with  accuracy.  To  realize  what 
latitude  of  opinion  there  is  on  the  question  one  need  only  com¬ 
pare  the  views  of  the  orthodox  socialist  with  the  orthodox 
Malthusian ’s,  or  those  of  the  biological  eugenist  with  the  environ¬ 
mentalists.  ’  The  fact,  however,  that  some  individuals  may  dis¬ 
count  our  dependence  on  nature  and  wrongly  attribute  most 
opportunity-obstruction  to  the  machinations  of  exploiting  classes 
does  not  alter  the  force  of  the  resentments  felt  or  of  their 
tendency  to  create  dogmatic-emotional  radical  attitudes. 

In  the  third  place,  conflicts  of  interest  between  individuals 
produce  interminable  conflicts  within  the  same  person.  Every 
normal  human  being  has  illimitable  possibilities  of  experience. 
No  one,  at  least  no  one  who  has  not  reached  the  neutral  spiritual 
state  of  an  Indian  yogi,  escapes  having  mutually  incompatible 
desires.  Logical  limitations  of  time,  place,  and  circumstance 
give  us  only  one  actual  life  to  lead  as  against  the  infinite  num¬ 
ber  of  possible  lives  we  might  lead.  It  results  that  even  the 
most  staid  and  practical-minded  person  occasionally  indulges 
in  ideals  and  day  dreams,  consciously  or  subconsciously.  Day¬ 
dreaming  and  the  like  may  be  only  harmless  ways  of  momen- 


154  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

tarily  escaping  actualities,  a  sort  of  vicarious  escape  from 
specialization  and  discipline.  Every  individual  has  some  time 
imagined  himself  to  possess  capacities  and  talents  which  he  did 
not  possess,  and  never  would.  But  on  the  other  hand  there  can 
be  no  doubt  that  in  many  if  not  most  persons,  there  are,  or 
have  been,  capacities,  talents,  proclivities,  which  have  had  no 
opportunity  for  development  or  expression,  by  reason  of  the 
necessity  for  specialization.  In  the  processes  of  suppressing 
these  possibilities  and  sublimating  these  interests,  we  are  always 
in  a  sense  killing  ourselves — some  one  or  more  of  our  many 
potential  selves.  In  general,  the  radical  temperament,  with  its 
strong  desire  for  freedom  and  self-expression,  objects  to  more 
of  this  spiritual  suicide  than  is  necessary. 

This  desire  for  freedom  gives  additional  weight  to  the  con¬ 
clusion  that  obstructed  interests  are  the  main  source  of  radical¬ 
ism.  Constantly,  in  history  and  in  social  relations,  we  encounter 
this  desire  and  the  conflict  it  engenders  between  those  in  author¬ 
ity  and  their  dependents — ruler  and  subject,  husband  and  wife, 
parent  and  child,  owner  and  slave,  employer  and  employee. 
The  struggles  for  political  liberty,  for  religious  toleration,  for 
economic  opportunity,  and  for  intellectual  freedom  are  all 
branches  of  the  same  tree  of  desire  to  escape  bonds  which  tie 
down,  formalize,  or  atrophy  human  personality. 

Many  individuals  who  do  not  overtly  enter  any  of  these 
struggles  are  at  heart  rebels  and  radicals,  but  are  restrained 
from  expressing  their  resentments  and  aspirations  by  various 
types  of  fear  and  considerations  of  expediency.  That  is  one 
reason  why  radical  movements,  once  well  started,  often  grow 
with  extreme  rapidity.  Many  individuals  who  have  been  suf¬ 
fering  from  legitimate  interests,  balked  by  obstacles  which  the 
movement  gives  promise  of  removing,  and  who  see  that  there 
is  a  growing  and  respectable  company  in  the  same  situation, 
now  take  courage  to  recognize  their  desires  and  to  join  others 
for  their  collective  reinforcement. 

It  is  well  to  note,  moreover,  that  thwarted  instincts,  repres¬ 
sion,  and  the  resulting  sense  of  injustice  and  perhaps  persecu¬ 
tion,  may  produce  in  certain  temperaments  a  fixed  and  ingrained 
attitude  of  irreconcilability.  Thus  may  develop  a  chronically 
dissatisfied  and  thoroughly  unreconstructible  element  in  the 
population.  How  many  such  temperaments  there  are  in  the 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


155 


ranks  of  the  various  radical  parties  and  movements  no  one 
knows.  The  number  is  probably  grossly  overestimated  by 
conservative  critics. 

The  radical’s  high  valuation  of  freedom  does  not  necessarily 
mean  that  he  is  in  revolt  against  social  control  as  such,  but  only 
that  he  objects  to  the  way  in  which  certain  institutional  limita¬ 
tions  on  freedom  now  operate.  A  certain  type  of  radical, 
indeed, — the  philosophical  anarchist — does  object  to  all  forms 
of  social  control  not  the  result  of  spontaneous  and  unforced 
concert  and  co-operation  of  individuals.  But  this  attitude  is  so 
obviously  based  upon  a  thoroughly  unscientific  ignoring  of 
human  nature  as  it  actually  is  (whatever  it  ideally  should  be) 
that  it  may  be  left  out  of  consideration.  Many  radicals,  not 
classifiable  as  anarchists,  not  to  speak  of  many  individuals  and 
groups  who  would  resent  being  regarded  as  radical,  advocate 
diminution  of  this  or  that  institutional  limitation  of  personal 
liberty.  This  attitude  may  result  from  the  suppression,  by  law 
or  other  forms  of  control,  of  habits  and  activities  previously 
countenanced  but  now  regarded  as  injurious  to  social  welfare. 
Those  most  inconvenienced  by  the  new  dispensation  may  violate 
it  simply  because  of  the  power  of  habit,  or  they  may  oppose  it, 
sometimes  sincerely,  sometimes  otherwise,  on  the  ground  that 
it  is  a  dangerous  step  toward  undue  centralization  of  authority, 
and  hence  toward  tyranny.  Some  of  the  opponents  of  prohibi¬ 
tion,  for  example,  are  undoubtedly  actuated  by  purely  personal 
self-assertiveness — the  product  of  pathological  thirst  or  the 
human  desire  to  do  something  forbidden — while  others  act  un¬ 
der  a  sincere  conviction  that  the  Eighteenth  Amendment  sets 
a  dangerous  precedent  with  regard  to  the  powers  of  the  Federal 
and  State  governments. 

On  the  other  hand,  far  from  insisting  upon  a  direct  and 
unmediated  personal  liberty,  the  radical  may  hold  that  indi¬ 
vidual  freedom  can  be  attained  only  through  great  increase  in 
the  effectiveness  of  social  control.  Nearly  all  socialists,  whether 
of  the  state  collectivist  or  the  guild  socialist  school,  hold  this 
view.  In  this  the  radical  is  at  one  with  the  moralists  of  all 
ages,  who  have  never  wearied  of  sermonizing  on  the  fact  that 
liberty  can  be  had  only  under  law  and  order. 

The  radical  differs  very  essentially  from  the  conservative 
just  here — in  that  he  is  thoroughly  dissatisfied  with  an  “ order,’ 9 


156  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

a  system  of  organization  and  control,  which  seems  to  him  to 
give  little  promise  of  furthering  the  solution  of  the  difficult, 
but  basic,  problem  of  combining  efficient  social  co-operation 
with  individual  liberty.  The  average  advanced,  thoroughgoing 
radical  wants  a  social  structure  which  will  insure  and  promote 
genuine  personal  liberty.  He  regards  the  liberty  so  often  ex¬ 
tolled  as  the  product  of  present  organization  as  a  somewhat 
Pickwickian  matter. 

It  is  not  to  be  overlooked  that  insecurity  is  a  very  important 
cause  of  radicalism.  Paradoxically,  it  may  be  said  that  many 
men  are  radical  because  they  are  naturally  conservative.  They 
wish,  that  is,  assurance  of  a  living  at  some  customary  standard, 
with  which  they  would  be,  or  at  least  think  they  would  be,  con¬ 
tent  for  the  rest  of  their  lives.  But  they  find  that  the  existing 
social  organization  fails  to  assure  them  even  reasonably  continu¬ 
ous  employment — in  spite  of  the  reiterated  “ right  to  work.’ ’ 
Consequently  they  maintain  a  deep-seated  distrust  of  the  exist¬ 
ing  order  and  come  easily  to  believe  that  only  revolution  and 
transformation  can  give  them  security  of  employment  and  of 
life. 

Industrial  insecurity  is  regarded  by  Professor  Commons  as 
the  central  cause  of  economic  radicalism.  “The  greatest  self¬ 
cure  that  it  [capitalism]  needs  today  is  security  of  the  job,  for 
it  is  insecurity  of  jobs  that  is  the  breeder  of  socialism,  of 
anarchism,  of  the  restrictions  of  trade  unionism,  and  a  menace 
to  capitalism,  the  nation,  and  even  civilization.  ’  ’ 16  Commons 
certainly  over-estimates,  however,  the  results  which  would  flow 
from  mere  security  of  industrial  employment.  There  are  other 
and  equally  important  sources  of  insecurity  and  obstructed 
liberty.  As  a  perspicacious  reviewer  of  Commons’  book 
says : 

“These  chapters  do  not  show  us  how  capitalists  can  employ 
labor  when  they  cannot  sell  their  goods,  how  they  can  or  will 
stop  the  pitiless  drive  for  world  markets  in  which  to  sell  their 
goods,  how  they  can  or  will  prevent  devastating  imperialist 
wars  such  as  the  recent  unpleasantness,  or  how  they  can  or  will 
stop  the  endless  quest  of  human  nature  for  something  that  it 

16  John  R.  Commons  and  Associates,  Industrial  Government ,  1921,  p. 
272. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  157 

does  not  have,  even  after  warm  beds  and  full  dinner  pails  have 
been  provided.  ’  ’ 17 

3.  Some  Characteristics  of  the  Radical  Mind 

The  radical  lacks  the  conservative’s  attachment  and  confor¬ 
mity  to  things-as-they-are.  His  habituation  and  adjustment 
have  been  broken  by  social  changes  and  intellectual  stimuli  from 
which  the  conservative  is  relatively  exempt,  or  to  which  he  is 
temperamentally  impervious. 

Feeling  his  maladjustment,  the  radical  tends  to  become  in¬ 
creasingly  sensitive  and  critical.  He  persistently  questions, 
or  dogmatically  denies,  the  rationality  of  his  lot  and  that  of 
others  of  his  class  and  station.  His  spirit  not  infrequently  be¬ 
comes  hypercritical. 

With  this,  especially  in  the  rank  and  file,  goes  a  tendency 
to  make  impossible  demands — sometimes  impossible  simply  be¬ 
cause  the  radical  does  not  sufficiently  understand  the  necessity, 
or  know  effective  methods,  of  persuading  enough  people  to  see 
things  as  he  does,  sometimes  physically  as  well  as  psychologically 
impossible.  In  other  words  the  extreme  radical  may  be,  though 
he  is  not  necessarily  so,  a  visionary  utopian.  As  the  proof  of 
the  pudding  is  in  the  eating  thereof,  so  the  present  value  of  an 
ideal  depends,  in  great  part  at  least,  upon  its  chances  of  accept¬ 
ance  and  application — a  truism  which  the  radical  frequently 
overlooks. 

On  the  whole  the  radical  is  more  imaginative  than  the  con¬ 
servative.  Either  from  personal  experience  or  from  a  greater 
sensitiveness  to  maladjustment  and  a  quicker  sympathy  with 
its  victims,  he  draws  a  vivid  picture  of  the  untoward  lot  of  the 
masses.  The  easy-going,  comfortable  conservative  draws  no  pic¬ 
tures  at  all,  or  else  a  fancifully  roseate  comparison  of  the  lot  of 
the  masses  today  with  that  of  his  grandfather,  because  his  per¬ 
sonal  interests  are  not  touched  and  he  is  not  fired  by  the  impulse 
of  socially  creative  workmanship.  A  certain  type  of  radical  has 
constructive  imagination.  Not  only  does  he  see  and  feel  present 
evil  and  ugliness,  but  he  conceives  a  structure  in  which  the 
major  injustices  and  maladjustments  would  be  avoided.  If  he 
be  one  of  the  increasing  number,  but  still  too  few,  practical 


17  Charles  A.  Beard,  in  the  Nation,  Nov.  9,  1921,  p.  543. 


158  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

radical  idealists,  his  imagination  is  fertile  in  devising  working 
programs  by  which  the  ideal  may  be  approximated.  At  this 
point  it  is  difficult  to  draw  a  line  between  the  rational,  hard- 
headed,  moderate  radical,  and  the  advanced  idealistic  progres¬ 
sive  or  liberal. 

It  must  be  said  that  the  mass  of  economic  radicals,  however, 
are  almost  as  deficient  in  constructive  imagination  and  practical 
innovative  capacity  as  is  the  average  conservative.  They  are 
quick  to  follow  the  lead  of  an  intellectually  powerful  or  suffi¬ 
ciently  vituperative  critic  of  the  present  social  order,  but  they 
contribute  little  or  nothing  to  constructive  programs. 

Nearly  all  men  and  women  are  victims  of  what  the  psycholo¬ 
gists  call  “language  habits. ”  Words  and  phrases  are  reiterated 
and  passed  back  and  forth,  until,  if  they  ever  had  any  definite 
meaning,  they  lose  it.  Formalistic  verbiage  takes  the  place  of 
constructive,  analytical  discussion.  A  very  heavy  percentage 
of  socialistic  literature,  as  well  as  of  criticism  of  socialism,  is 
practically  nothing  more  than  empty  verbiage  revolving  around 
the  academic  phraseology  of  Marxian  economics.  Just  as  liberal 
and  conservative  talk  ad  nauseam  of  “democracy,”  often  with¬ 
out  knowing  what  they  mean  by  it,  so  the  average  rank-and-file 
socialist  has  contented  himself  with  repeating,  parrot-like,  ‘  ‘  class 
struggle,”  “increasing  misery,”  “surplus  value,”  and  “exploi¬ 
tation.” 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  the  prevalence  of  empty  language 
habits,  there  is  probably  more  real  thinking  done  in  radical 
than  in  conservative  circles.  If  one  were  not  brought  to  this 
conclusion  on  the  a  priori  ground  that  discomfort,  unrest,  and 
a  quick  sympathy  give  radicals  more  to  think  about,  and  more 
stimulus  to  think,  than  the  comfortable  conservative  has,  ob¬ 
servant  association  with  both  groups  would  force  one  to  it.  The 
intellectual  radicals,  at  least,  try  to  get  down  to  basic  principles ; 
the  conservatives  regard  basic  principles  as  settled.  To  them 
these  matters  have  become  fixed  habit,  established  matter-of- 
course — and  as  a  result  conservative  talk,  where  not  forced 
into  pugnacious  defense  sentiment  by  the  attacks  of  critical 
propaganda,  too  often  degenerates  into  personal  pleasantries 
or  matters  of  repair  and  depreciation  account. 

While  the  mind  of  the  rank-and-file  radical  may  become  just 
as  set  and  inflexible  as  that  of  the  uncritical  conservative,  the 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


159 


very  stimuli  which  create  radicalism  tend  to  produce  and  per¬ 
petuate  a  certain  mental  alertness  and  flexibility  lacking  in  the 
mind  that  habitually  takes  things-as-they-are  as  matter  of  course. 
The  mind  of  the  more  intellectual  and  the  more  constructive 
radical  of  today  is  especially  characterized  by  this  flexibility, 
although  the  dyed-in-the-wool  followers  are  strikingly  lacking  in 
it.  He  is  constitutionally  averse  to  accepting  his  ideals  on 
traditional  authority,  not  bound  down  to  the  intellectual  and 
moral  conventions  of  a  self-complacent  class  or  community,  un¬ 
fettered  by  any  worshipful  attitude  toward  the  superior  wisdom 
of  the  past,  not  afraid  of  social  experiment,  and  as  yet  not  a 
slave  to  the  dictates  of  some  radical  party  organization.  So 
the  intelligent,  progressive  radical  is  temperamentally  never 
satisfied  with  the  transformation  or  progress  which,  even  with 
unbroken  peace,  society  can  accomplish  in  one  individual’s  span 
of  life.  No  sooner  is  one  job  done,  than  his  active  mind  has 
conceived  and  planned  another. 

For  this  reason,  if  for  no  other,  when  society  once  begins 
consciously  and  effectively  to  rationalize  its  relations  and  to 
direct  its  own  evolution  toward  ends  of  real  justice,  economy, 
and  efficiency,  we  must  expect  to  see  progress  accelerated  to  a 
degree  now  scarcely  thought  of.  That  we  were  already,  at  the 
outbreak  of  the  war,  entering  upon  such  a  period  in  this  country 
can  scarcely  be  doubted  by  one  who  will  take  the  pains  to  study 
the  history  of  social  legislation  and  of  change  in  social  view¬ 
point  during  the  past  fifteen  or  twenty  years.  And  no  one 
doubts  that  the  war  proved  a  tremendous  impetus  to  radical¬ 
ism  the  world  over.18 

But  the  alertness  and  elasticity  of  the  radical  mind  has 
another  side.  The  instinct-like  conservatism  of  youth  has  been 
alluded  to.  Every  college  teacher  knows,  however,  another, 
though  rarer,  type  of  youthful  mind:  the  enthusiastic,  volatile 
temperament  which  seizes  with  avidity  every  new  “ism, ”  every 
new  ideal  or  proposal  for  reform,  and  rushes,  with  a  pressure 
so  high  that  it  is  soon  exhausted,  into  this  and  that  movement, 
without  pausing  to  understand  or  criticize  its  practicability  or 
real  desirability.  This  is  the  emotional  radicalism  of  youth, 

18  See  the  Nation,  Dec.  27,  1917,  “The  Proper  Attitude  Toward  Social¬ 
ism.” 


160  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

which,  if  not  tempered  and  curbed  by  intellectual  and  critical 
discipline,  leads  either  to  early  moral  exhaustion,  with  its  logical 
result — a  sinking  back  into  a  humdrum  acceptance  of  things-as- 
they-are — or  to  early  crystallization  into  the  dogmatism  and 
irreconcilability  of  orthodox  radical  parties  and  sects. 

If  we  find  that  radicalism  perhaps  tends  to  less  equanimity, 
poise,  and  balance  than  does  conservatism,  we  should  undertand 
this  as  a  natural  consequence  of  the  different  relation  in  which 
radicals  and  conservatives  respectively  stand  to  the  existing 
order  of  things.  In  normal  times,  the  conservative  is  not  sub¬ 
ject  to  abnormal  strain;  he  does  not  feel  that  society  is  not  grant¬ 
ing  to  him  what  is  due  him  and  his  class;  he  moves  among 
people  who  think  and  act  and  live  as  he  does.  Such  stress  as 
his  nervous  system  endures  comes  from  the  ordinary  cycles  of 
life  and  from  those  competitions  and  conflicts  of  interest  and 
ability  which  he  accepts  as  a  part  of  the  order  of  nature.  The 
radical,  however,  is  usually  in  the  minority.  He  is  swimming 
against  the  current  of  established  habit  and  sentiment.  The 
burden  of  proof,  and  of  being  understood,  is  laid  upon  him; 
and  the  conservative  takes  care  that  it  is  not  light. 

Moreover,  the  radical  is  an  idealist ;  the  conservative  is,  in  a 
sense,  a  realist.  The  conservative  lives  in  what  he  calls  a  real 
world,  and  he  is  in  the  habit  of  parading  the  sentiment  that  it 
is  a  world  of  cold,  hard  facts.  The  radical  lives  in  the  world 
of  facts,  but  also  in  that  of  his  ideals.  In  a  sense  he  is  the 
victim  of  a  divided  personality ;  the  gulf  between  his  actual  and 
his  ideal  world,  or  self,  is  such  that  he  cannot  help  being  in  a 
state  of  more  or  less  continuous  mental  unrest.  The  conserva¬ 
tive  is  an  idealist  in  a  different  sense,  in  that  he  idealizes  the 
actual  world  by  shutting  his  eyes  to  its  maladjustments  and 
deformities. 

The  alertness,  flexibility,  and  idealism  of  the  radical  give  a 
different  texture  and  trend  to  his  loyalty  attitudes  than  have 
those  which  characterize  the  conservative.  Like  the  hide-bound 
conservative,  the  doctrinaire  radical  is  loyal  to  his  principles, 
with  a  loyalty  so  intense,  so  dogmatic,  and  so  uncritical  that  it 
blinds  him  to  objective  truth.  But  the  radical  is  not  attached  to 
institutions  as  they  are,  and  consequently  not  “ loyal”  to  them 
— at  least  in  that  popular  conception  which  regards  loyalty  and 
adverse  criticism  as  mutually  incompatible.  He  regards  insti- 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


161 


tutions  as  means,  not  ends;  and  as  means  they  are  not  only 
open  to  scientific  analysis  and  criticism,  but  to  rational  adapta¬ 
tion  or  transformation.  The  radical  has  usually  found  too 
many  institutions  standing  in  the  way  of  his  ideals  to  have  much 
institutional  reverence.  It  is  precisely  a  certain  institutional¬ 
izing  of  thought,  belief,  and  sentiment,  which  constitutes  the 
shell  of  custom  and  habit,  which  the  radical  has  always  to  con¬ 
tend  with.  If  the  radical  is  marked  by  institutional  loyalty  at 
all,  it  is  of  a  deeper  and  more  philosophical  sort,  because  his 
loyalty  is  to  institutions  idealized  through  his  critical  faculty 
and  constructive  imagination — to  institutions  as  he  hopes  they 
will  become  in  the  future. 

With  regard  to  loyalty  to  persons,  submission  to  the  prestige 
of  leaders,  and  hero  worship,  it  is  hazardous  to  draw  compari¬ 
sons.  The  “  take-a-lead”  instinct,  and  the  human  propensity 
to  idealization  for  the  sake  of  hero  worship,  are  strong  in  all 
but  the  most  highly  trained  and  intellectual  individuals.  That 
radicalism  is  not  free  from  these  sentimental  proclivities,  that 
the  average  radical  is  almost  as  quick  as  the  conservative  in  his 
respect  for  dogmatic  authority,  is  evidenced  by  the  conduct  of 
the  early  Christians — certainly  an  extremely  radical  group  in 
their  time — and  by  the  various  socialist  groups,  each  with  its 
own  prophet. 

Nevertheless,  the  radical  leader,  unless  he  possess  very  un¬ 
usual  personal  magnetism,  like  Lassalle  and  Marx,  usually  has 
a  much  more  difficult  position  than  does  the  conservative  leader. 
He  cannot  appeal  to  such  a  complex  of  highly  organized  special 
interests — financial  and  otherwise.  Nor  can  he  escape  the  basic 
fact  that  all  radicalism,  in  its  very  nature,  is  a  criticism  of, 
and  in  a  measure  a  revolt  from,  existing  controls  and  authori¬ 
ties.  Something  of  this  revolt  from  authority  is  bound  to  last 
over,  to  produce  a  separatist  tendency  within  the  radical 
groups  themselves. 

Evidences  of  this  fact,  apart  from  whatever  personal  ac¬ 
quaintance  one  may  have  with  radicals  and  liberals,  is  to  be 
found  in  the  intense  partisan  quarrels  which  seem  sooner  or 
later  to  break  out  in  all  radical  movements.  Witness  the  bit¬ 
ter  controversies  between  Marxians  and  Revisionists  in  the 
socialist  congresses,  the  friction  between  ‘'militants”  and  con¬ 
servatives  within  woman  suffrage  organizations,  and  the  great 


162  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

difficulty  liberals  in  religion  have  in  getting  together  in  effective 
organization.  The  history  of  Protestantism  is  thickly  .sprinkled 
with  the  droppings  away  of  sect  after  sect,  in  striking  contrast 
to  the  remarkable  and  in  itself  magnificent  solidarity  of  the 
conservative  Catholic  Church.  And  a  certain  suspicion  of 
authority  and  discipline,  together  with  an  over-developed  in¬ 
dividualism  of  self-expression  and  narrow  self-interest,  must 
be  a  part  of  the  explanation  of  the  seeming  incapacity  of  labor 
to  obtain  solidarity  of  organization  and  action. 

This  individualistic  tendency,  and  the  effort  to  curb  it,  explain 
the  iron-bound  rules  of  official  radical  parties — discipline  which 
defeats  its  own  end  by  limiting  party  membership  and  associa¬ 
tion  to  the  relative  few  who  can  subscribe  to  doctrinaire  creeds 
and  submit  to  autocratic  control.  The  discipline  of  some  of  the 
socialist  parties  has  been  quite  as  zealous  as  that  of  the  Victor¬ 
ian  church  in  the  pursuit  and  expulsion  of  heterodoxy.  The 
radical's  aversion  to  authority  is  overcome,  in  his  own  organiza¬ 
tions,  only  by  constant  reminders  of  th.e  tactical  necessity  of 
solidarity  and  by  provision  for  drastic  discipline  of  the  recalci¬ 
trant  member. 

Outside  of  his  own  organization,  if  he  belong  to  one,  the 
radical  is  a  less  obedient  slave  to  the  instinct  of  the  herd  than 
is  the  typical  conservative.  Not  infrequently,  he  scorns,  or 
affects  to  scorn,  the  public  sentiment  of  a  society  which  he 
believes  to  be  crushed  under  a  shell  of  thoughtless  formalism. 
He  comes  to  move  as  one  apart,  and  the  further  he  drifts  from 
the  main  current  of  popular  sentiment  and  prejudice,  the  less 
influence  he  has,  unless  he  be  possessed  of  unusual  tact  and  a 
striking  personality.  To  be  a  radical,  or  in  some  sections  and 
classes  even  a  liberal,  means  a  certain  degree  of  isolation,  un¬ 
less  the  individual  can  find  enough  others  of  his  kind  to  form 
a  supporting  group.  To  be  a  radical  is  to  be  different;  it  is  to 
be  a  non-conformist  with  the  established  standards  of  thought 
and  belief ;  and  the  nonconformist  is  always  drifting  out  of  the 
current  or  swimming  against  it.  Moreover  he  is  always  the 
object  of  a  certain  clannish  suspicion  and  enmity.  The  herd 
does  not  take  kindly  to  the  stranger,  whether  in  deed  or  in 
thought.  Fear  of  this  herd  instinct,  whether  it  be  expressed 
quietly  in  simply  letting  the  radical  alone  and  thus  making  him 
feel  that  he  is  one  apart,  or  in  active  opposition,  prevents  many 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


163 


persons  from  having  non-conservative  convictions,  or  when  they 
do  have  them,  from  exhibiting  the  courage  which  is  supposed 
morally  to  go  with  them. 

As  progressivism  and  radicalism  gain  ground,  however,  they 
gain  adherents  and  numbers,  and  the  erstwhile  isolation  of  the 
nonconformist  is  broken.  He  finds  himself  one  of  many  like- 
minded  persons,  and  discovers  that  he  has  a  part  to  play  in  an 
organized  movement  for  a  common  end.  When  this  stage  is 
reached,  radical  discussion  turns  from  criticism  of  the  existing 
order  to  tilting  as  to  the  best  means  of  reform  or  tranforma- 
tion,  and  the  way  is  opened  for  those  internal  dissensions  which 
may  retard  the  whole  movement. 

It  is  clear  that  the  radical’s  whole  scale  and  system  of  valua¬ 
tion  differ  in  important  respects  from  those  of  the  conservative 
or  even  of  the  progressive.  Values,  whether  economic,  aesthetic, 
moral,  or  religious,  are  highly  institutionalized  and  convention¬ 
alized.  They  are  in  a  broad  sense  social.  We  prize  what  others 
prize.  In  any  of  the  great  fields  of  human  interest  values  are 
largely  the  result  of  imitation.19  But  the  radical,  as  he  breaks 
with  existing  institutions  or  finds  fundamental  defects  in  them, 
logically  and  perforce  first  questions,  then  rejects,  many  of  the 
values  derived  from  their  influence  and  conventionally  accepted 
by  the  uncritical.  Every  institution  tends,  for  the  most  part 
unconsciously  and  unpremeditatedly,  to  make  itself  an  end 
rather  than  a  means.  The  radical,  on  the  other  hand,  with  his 
institutionally  balked  interests,  and  his  fundamental  desire  for 
scope  and  freedom,  is  an  individualist  in  the  truest  sense  of  the 
term.  Unconciously,  radical  parties  and  movements  may  forget 
for  the  time  being  their  essential  function  as  means,  and  come 
to  be  served  practically  as  ends  in  themselves,  but  the  insistent 
individualism  of  their  members,  and  of  other  radicals  not  mem¬ 
bers,  tends  to  keep  alive  and  alert  the  recognition  of  the  fact 
that  the  party  is  means  and  individuals  the  end.  Hence  it 
is  generally  true  that  the  radical’s  standards  of  valuation 
are  m  one  sense  more  directly  individualistic  and  less  conven¬ 
tional  and  traditional  than  those  of  the  average  run  of  the 
populace. 


19  For  an  illuminating  discussion  of  the  institutional  nature  of  valua¬ 
tion,  see  C.  II.  Cooley,  Social  Process ,  1918,  Part  VI. 


164  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

We  have  noted  the  conservative’s  high  valuation  of  “ order” 
— by  which  he  means  the  existing  institutional  controls  and  con¬ 
ventional  relations.  The  radical,  on  the  contrary,  does  not  set 
a  high  valuation  upon  this  order,  because  he  is  convinced  that 
it  is  essentially  not  order,  but  confusion  and  disorder.  He  is 
impressed  by  the  working  at  cross  purposes,  the  lack  of  co-ordi¬ 
nation  of  plan  and  effort,  the  waste  and  inefficiency,  of  our 
present  society,  especially  in  its  industrial  aspects. 

The  liberal  has  rather  a  sense  of  progress  than  either  an 
exaggerated  appreciation  of  the  beauty  and  fitness  of  things- 
as-they-are,  or  a  too  violent  reaction  to  the  ugliness  and  injustice 
about  him.  The  radical  differs  from  the  liberal  in  that  his 
theory  of  progress  is  apt  to  be  mutative.  He  assumes  that 
progress  takes  place  by  jumps  and  crises — while  the  liberal’s 
theory  is  rather  that  progress  takes  place  opportunely,  by 
small  steps  and  continuous  readjustment  and  improvement.20 

What  the  conservative  regards  as  his  high  valuation  of  order 
is  often  nothing  more  or  less  than  a  craven  fear  of  the  new  and 
simple  dislike  of  the  inconveniences  of  readjustment.  Moved 
by  conviction  of  the  insufficiency  and  hollowness  of  an  order 
which  he  thinks  does  not  promote  progress  in  justice  and  free¬ 
dom,  with  his  critical  eye  on  the  defects  of  the  present  system 
rather  than  on  its  beneficent  aspects,  with  a  keen  desire  for 
accelerated  and  directed  progress,  and  living  as  much  in  a 
world  of  ideals  as  of  actualities,  the  radical  welcomes  every 
change  which  he  thinks  will  bring  society  nearer  to  the  stand¬ 
ards  which  his  constructive  imagination  has  more  or  less  defi¬ 
nitely  formulated  as  the  next  step  in  social  evolution. 

Placing  a  low  regard  upon  the  justice,  efficiency,  and  progres¬ 
siveness  of  the  present  order,  in  whole  or  in  certain  of  its  as¬ 
pects,  the  radical  naturally  has  little  of  that  reverence  for  the 
past  which  is  so  striking  a  characteristic  of  conservative  and 
reactionary.  The  radical  sees  the  past  as  a  period  in  which 
the  passions  of  men  retarded  the  development  and  use  of  con¬ 
structive  reason.  He  sees  the  whole  social  organization  and 
point  of  view  of  the  past  so  different  from  the  present  that  he 

20  Herbert  Hoover,  for  example,  is  quoted  as  saying  that  “the  oppor¬ 
tunity  for  advance  in  living  standards  lies  more  surely  in  the  steady 
elimination  of  these  [industrial]  wastes  than  in  great  inventions,”  but 
he  was  speaking  of  mechanical,  not  social,  progress. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


165 


concludes  that  past  experience — recorded  with  more  or  less 
subjective  bias  by  the  historians — has  little  value  as  a  guide  to 
future  constructive  effort,  unless  it  be  to  show  us  what  to  avoid. 
He  sees  the  past  so  bound  by  superstition,  dogmatism,  and 
authority,  of  both  political  and  ecclesiastical  absolutism,  not  to 
mention  scholastic  metaphysics  and  mystical  obscurantism,  and 
so  deficient  in  scientific  knowledge  and  spirit,  that  to  him  it  ap¬ 
pears  incapable  of  giving  us  much  of  value  in  the  development 
of  a  rational  organization  and  control  for  the  democratic  ends 
of  health,  opportunity,  and  happiness  for  all. 

He  has  the  less  faith  in  the  value  of  traditional  viewpoints  and 
standards  because  he  finds,  in  the  political  field,  that  individuals 
have  been  regarded  as  existing  for  the  state,  and  the  state  for 
the  interests  of  a  limited  group  or  ring  of  privileged  people, 
and  in  the  economic  field,  that  most  of  the  economic  thought — 
or  language-habits — of  the  conservative  and  reactionary  inter¬ 
ests  who  oppose  organization  and  regulation  of  economic  rela¬ 
tions  for  democratic  ends  are  drawn  from  the  doctrinaire  in¬ 
dividualism  of  the  18th  century — a  laissez  faire  policy  which  is 
incapable  of  just  and  effective  application  today.  He  sees  the 
conservatives  themselves  apparently  learning  no  lessons  from 
the  past,  but  continuing  in  one  breath  to  cry  for  an  impossible 
cessation  of  governmental  regulations  and  restrictions  and  in 
the  next  for  protective  tariffs,  state  aid  to  private  banking  cor¬ 
porations  in  forcing  loans  upon  reluctant,  but  weak,  foreign 
nations,  and  government  subsidies  to  shipping  and  transporta¬ 
tion  companies — policies  which  in  principle  are  but  a  twentieth 
century  application  of  the  mercantilist  policies  of  the  sixteenth 
and  seventeenth  centuries. 

It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  the  radical  is  far  less 
actuated  by  fear  than  is  the  conservative.  His  intellectual  at¬ 
tention,  his  quasi-religious  attachment  to  the  idea  of  change,  his 
faith  in  the  perfectibility  of  human  relations,  his  critical  capa¬ 
city,  and  his  constructive  imagination  greatly  reduce,  for  him, 
the  area  of  the  unfamiliar ;  his  mind  is  accustomed  to  function¬ 
ing  in  realms  of  prophecy  and  speculation  which  the  matter- 
of-fact  conservative  dreads  to  enter.  Moreover,  radicals  very 
commonly  have  little  to  lose  and  much  to  gain  from  social 
change,  even  of  a  highly  questionable  and  experimental  nature. 
This  last,  however,  is  true  only  of  those  men  and  women,  chiefly 


166  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

self-sacrificing  leaders,  who  have  freed  themselves  from  bond¬ 
age  to  material  things. 

The  fear  which  influences  the  radical  is  suspicion — distrust 
of  the  motives  of  the  classes  that  have  power  and  prestige. 
Every  movement  and  organization  which  preaches  or  acts  upon 
the  doctrine  of  class  antagonism  increases  the  depth  and  scope 
of  this  suspicious  attitude.  The  socialist  class  struggle  theory 
has  done  so,  the  syndicalists  and  I.  W.  W.  make  it  the  basis  of 
their  creed  and  policy,  while  on  the  other  side  employers ’ 
organizations,  open-shop  associations,  and,  abroad,  the  erstwhile 
domination  of  church  and  clerical  parties  by  the  political  author¬ 
ities21  have  done  their  part  to  increase  the  gulf  between  the 
masses  and  the  classes,  and  to  make  it  increasingly  difficult  for 
either  to  understand  the  other’s  point  of  view  or  see  any  good 
in  it. 

But  if  the  radical  is  characterized  by  an  over-measure  of 
distrust,  and  exhibits  too  frequently  and  without  due  respect  for 
the  feelings  and  sentiments  of  others,  its  derivative,  a  somewhat 
egotistic  pugnacity,  he  is  also  the  vessel  of  undaunted  hope  and 
abiding  faith — hope  in  future  realized  ideals,  faith  in  the  ulti¬ 
mate  rationality  and  perfectibility  of  human  nature.  It  is  this 
larger  faith  in  man,  in  what  life  may  be,  and  specifically  in  our 
ultimate  power  to  organize  collective  life  for  the  ends  of  indi¬ 
vidual  freedom  and  personality  which,  perhaps  more  deeply  and 

21  See,  for  example,  Adele  N.  Phillips  and  Russell  Phillips,  “The  Decline 
of  the  Berliner,”  Atlantic  Monthly,  January,  1918,  pp.  19-20. 

“In  the  episcopal  oath  of  fidelity  to  the  Crown,  which  all  must  take 
who  seek  to  preach  the  divine  word,  the  solemn  oath  is  administered. 
‘I  will  be  submissive,  faithful,  and  obedient  to  his  Royal  Majesty, — and 
his  lawful  successors  in  the  government,  as  my  most  graciousi  King  and 
sovereign ;  promote  his  welfare  according  to  my  ability ;  prevent  injury 
and  detriment  to  him ;  and  particularly  endeavor  carefully  to  cultivate 
in  the  minds  of  the  people  under  my  care  a  sense  of  reverence  and  fidel¬ 
ity  toward  the  King,  love  of  the  Fatherland,  obedience  to  the  laws,  and 
all  those  virtues  which  in  a  Christian  denote  a  good  citizen;  and  will  not 
suffer  any  man  to  teach  or  act  in  a  contrary  spirit.  In  particular,  I 
vow  that  I  will  not  support  any  society  or  association,  either  at  home, 
or  abroad,  which  might  endanger  public  security,  and  will  inform  His 
Majesty  of  any  proposals  made,  either  in  my  diocese  or  elsewhere,  which 
might  prove  injurious  to  the  state.  I  will  preach  the  word  as  His  Gra¬ 
cious  Majesty  dictates,’ — and  so  forth.  ...  In  consequence  of  the 
strange  words  uttered  in  the  pulpit,  the  people,  being  aroused,  distrust 
the  church.  They  fear  that  it  has  been  subordinated  to  the  political 
system.” 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  167 

fundamentally  than  any  other  trait,  characterizes  the  radical 
mind. 

The  active  radical  simply  cannot  be  a  cynic,  though  he  may 
tire  us  with  his  refrain,  “Eventually,  why  not  now.” 


CHAPTER  VIII 


THE  METHODS  OF  RADICALISM 

1.  Psychological  Phases  of  Radical  Method ;  Emotion  and  Blame 

in  Relation  to  Radical  Leadership 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  discuss  in  detail  the  specific  methods 
practiced  by  radicals.  There  is  a  copious  literature,  con¬ 
demnatory  and  otherwise  dealing  with  this  subject;  no 
small  part  of  the  internal  discussions  and  dissensions  of  radical 
groups  and  parties  revolve  around  questions  of  policy.  Our 
discussion  of  specific  methods  will  be  confined  in  the  main  to 
bringing  out  certain  comparisons  and  contrasts  with  the  methods 
of  conservatism.  The  main  purpose  at  this  point  is  to  attempt 
further  analysis  of  the  psychology  of  radicalism  in  the  hope  that 
light  may  be  thrown  upon  some  of  the  less  evident  aspects  of 
method.  An  attempt  at  something  more  than  the  usual  super¬ 
ficial  survey  is  essential  to  later  evaluation  in  relation  to  social 
achievement. 

The  conflict  between  conservatism  and  radicalism,  wherever 
and  however  it  may  be  staged,  is,  in  all  its  protean  forms,  a 
struggle  for  possession  of  the  means  and  agencies  of  social  con¬ 
trol.  That  extreme  radicalism  contemplates  and  strives  for  the 
abolition  of  some  (in  the  case  of  anarchism,  all)  of  the  existing 
institutional  controls  does  not  alter  this  fundamental  fact.  The 
extreme  radical  may  desire  to  abolish  many  specific  institutions, 
but  for  the  most  part  he  expects  other  institutional  controls  to 
be  put  in  their  place.  (Here,  again,  the  nihilists  and  philo¬ 
sophical  anarchists  must  be  excepted.)  The  syndicalist,  for 
example,  is  strictly  speaking  not  an  anarchist ;  his  ‘  ‘  dictatorship 
of  the  proletariat”  does  not  mean  unrestrained  individualism. 
It  merely  means  that  he  expects  the  workers  to  substitute  their 
own  control  of  industry — in  whatever  form  it  may  work  out — 
for  the  present  control  by  the  capitalistic  bourgeoisie. 

Similarly,  in  whatever  field  other  than  the  economic,  e.g ., 
in  art,  or  literature,  or  ecclesiastical  policy,  conflict  between 

168 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


169 


conservative  and  radical  tendencies  may  arise,  the  struggle  is 
for  control,  now  of  the  authoritative  offices,  now  of  the  positions 
of  prestige,  and  always  of  the  attention,  sentiment,  and  allegi¬ 
ance  of  the  rank-and-file  public  concerned. 

Any  radical  method  involves  three  tasks.  First,  the  nature 
and  causes  of  the  conditions  which  the  radical  wishes  changed 
must  be  determined,  and  the  human  responsibility,  if  any,  for 
their  continued  existence  fixed.  Secondly,  this  done,  people 
must  be  brought  to  see  the  nature  of  the  objectionable  condi¬ 
tions,  their  causes,  and  the  agencies  responsible  for  their  exist¬ 
ence.  And  third,  action  must  be  instituted  and  carried  through 
for  their  removal.  The  first  is  the  stage  of  investigation;  the 
second  is  that  of  propaganda  and  organization — in  brief  the 
formation  and  unification  of  opinion  and  sentiment;  the  third 
is  that  of  attack,  which  may  be  either  a  combat  of  social  groups, 
or  the  carrying  out  of  a  technological,  social-engineering  project. 

The  first  task  is  that  of  diagnosis.  Let  us  for  a  moment  resort 
to  a  trite  analogy.  The  cure  of  disease  obviously  is  conditioned 
upon  a  correct  diagnosis  of  the  trouble,  a  true  determination 
of  its  cause.  It  follows  that  diagnostics  is  a  most  important, 
as  it  is  a  most  difficult,  medical  art.  First-class  diagnosticians 
have  been  comparatively  rare ;  today  diagnosis  is  becoming  more 
and  more  a  co-operative  process  carried  on  with  the  indispens¬ 
able  aid  of  clinical  laboratories.  As  nearly  as  may  be,  it  is  a 
strictly  scientific  procedure. 

The  case  of  social  maladjustment  is  not  essentially  different. 
The  effectiveness  of  whatever  measures  may  be  taken  to  remedy 
or  to  cure  it  clearly  must  depend  upon  the  accuracy  and  truth 
of  the  analysis  of  its  causes.  Inasmuch  as  the  radical  is  bent 
on  curing  certain  social  maladjustments  through  thoroughgoing 
treatment  of  some  kind,  it  is  important  to  analyze  his  mind 
with  regard  to  its  fitness  to  diagnose  the  disease,  and  to  estimate 
the  probabilities  of  his  choosing  the  right  remedy. 

Returning  to  our  concept,  desire-reinforcement — the  deter¬ 
mination  to  remove  the  obstacles  to  the  fulfillment  of  specific 
desire  or  interest — it  is  obvious  that  the  effectiveness  of  this 
reinforcement  in  action  depends  upon  the  character  of  the  in¬ 
dividuals  concerned,  especially  the  leaders — upon  their  ability  to 
single  out  the  real  causes  of  obstruction,  in  order  that  the  plan 
for  their  removal  may  be  intelligently  conceived  and  directed. 


170 


CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 


We  have  seen  that  the  emotional  accompaniment  of  balked 
desire  is  very  likely  to  be  resentment,  hurt  feeling,  and  anger. 
We  detected  also  the  presence  of  a  strong  impulse  to  blame  some 
person  or  persons  and  to  make  an  attack  upon  them.  There  is 
always  the  impulse  to  kick,  or  at  least  to  damn,  the  chair  against 
which  you  have  just  barked  your  shin.  The  next  impulse  is  to 
blame  the  person  who  left  the  chair  in  that  place.  It  is  not 
essentially  different  in  a  social  situation  involving  obstruction 
of  interest  and  activity.  Here,  also,  the  normal,  naive,  “nat¬ 
ural  ’  ’  impulse  is  to  blame  some  personal  agency  for  the  obstruc¬ 
tion.  And  the  natural,  undisciplined  method  of  attempting  the 
removal  of  the  obstruction  is  to  make  an  attack  upon  these  per¬ 
sonal  agencies.  The  success  of  the  attempt  will  depend  upon  the 
character  and  force  of  the  attack — the  strength  and  the  organiza¬ 
tion  of  the  attacking  forces — and  also  on  whether  the  right 
object  of  attack  has  been  chosen. 

It  is  therefore  important,  and  especially  so  in  the  case  of 
proposed  radical  action,  to  ascertain  under  what  mental  strains 
and  stresses,  and  through  what  apprehensional  biases,  the  ob¬ 
structions  are  perceived,  and  whether  attention  and  attack  are 
directed  to  causes  or  to  symptoms.  A  sick  person,  no  matter 
how  skilled  a  diagnostician  he  may  be,  may  not  be  able  to  diag¬ 
nose  his  own  ailment  correctly.  Similarly,  an  angry  person 
can  scarcely  be  expected  to  make  a  dispassionate  evaluation  of 
the  causes  of  his  anger. 

Not  all  obstructions  or  maladjustments,  by  any  means,  are 
due  to  the  malevolence  and  maliciousness,  or  even  the  incom¬ 
petency,  of  personal  agencies,  whether  individuals  or  classes. 
Obstacles  to  wish-fulfillment,  e.g.,  to  desire  for  greater  per¬ 
sonal  freedom,  for  higher  standards  of  living,  for  real  democ¬ 
racy  in  social  control,  for  new  standards  in  art  and  literature — 
in  fact  the  obstacles  to  progressive  ambitions  and  ideals  in  gen¬ 
eral — are  embodied  partly  in  the  conscious  personal  opposition 
of  people  or  classes  who  can  best  profit  by  things-as-they-are, 
but  partly  also,  in  impersonal  historico-genetic  causes,  and  in 
physical  limitations.  To  the  extent,  therefore,  that  the  radical ’s 
diagnosis  is  based  upon  personalistic  reactions,  it  may  be  far 
from  the  mark. 

Mass-poverty,  for  instance,  in  a  country  like  the  United 
States  with  “  boundless  ”  natural  resources,  may  be  due,  as  the 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


171 


socialists  and  many  liberals  claim,  to  the  unjust  distribution 
of  income  and  gross  restriction  of  output  attributable  to  capital¬ 
istic  “business  enterprise.”  Here  the  fixation  of  responsibility 
in  personal  or  class  terms  may  be  in  part  valid.  But  mass- 
poverty  in  China,  every  once  in  a  while  involving  starvation 
of  some  millions  of  people,  cannot  be  attributed  to  class  con¬ 
flict  or  to  corporate  greed  and  inefficiency.  It  is  patent  that 
the  causes  there  lie  almost  wholly  in  actual  pressure  of  popula¬ 
tion  on  the  land’s  utmost  capacity  to  provide  food.  Further 
analysis  shows  that  the  cause  of  this  redundancy  of  population 
lies  in  the  historico-genetic  tradition  of  ancestor  worship,  for 
which,  certainly,  no  “blame”  can  attach  to  individuals  as  such. 

Granting  for  the  moment  that  the  socialist  explanation  of 
poverty  in  America  is  substantially  correct,  it  would  follow 
that  the  capitalist-class,  business-enterprise,  production-for- 
profits  obstacle  to  a  higher  standard  of  living  for  the  masses 
might  be  removed  through  the  agency  of  blame-fixation  and 
militant  attack,  accomplishing  the  removal  of  capitalism  from 
power.  But  no  militant  class  conflict  in  China  could  by  any 
stretch  of  the  imagination  remove  the  causes  of  starvation,  which 
could  be  avoided  only  by  a  successful  campaign  of  education 
for  abolition  of  ancestor  worship  and  the  adoption  of  an  intelli¬ 
gent  policy  of  birth  control. 

Personalistic  “blame”  explanations  of  poverty  are  advanced 
both  by  individualists  and  by  socialists.  The  latter  fix  the  blame 
on  the  members  of  the  capitalist-employing  class  and  say  that 
poverty  is  due  to  exploitation.  The  individualists  place  the 
blame  on  the  poor  themselves  and  assert  that  their  poverty  is 
due  to  individual  shiftlessness.  Both  explanations  contain 
some  degree  of  superficial  truth,  but  both  are  emotional  explana¬ 
tions,  and  fail  to  satisfy  or  convince  the  critically  analytical 
mind,  which  demands  explanation  not  in  terms  of  blame-fixa¬ 
tion  but  in  terms  of  mechanistic  causation.  The  scientific,  be¬ 
havioristic  student  of  poverty  will  want  to  reveal,  on  the  one 
hand  the  social  or  historical  causes  of  “shiftlessness,”  and  on 
the  other  the  historical  and  institutional  causes  or  antecedents 
of  “exploitation”  and  exploitative  attitudes;  and  further  he 
will  insist  on  extending  the  search  for  causes  to  the  possible 
limitations  of  the  physical  environment  and  of  man’s  technolog¬ 
ical  control  over  nature. 


172  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

In  the  clash  of  interests  between  individuals  and  between 
classes,  within  and  across  national  boundaries,  so  much  desire- 
obstruction  is  involved  that  a  chronic  conflict  psychology  has 
been  acquired.  Perhaps  the  human  race  has  been  afflicted  with 
the  conflict  complex  from  the  start;  it  doubtless  has  instinctive 
and  biological  origins.  Human  institutions  and  moral  codes 
have  had  as  the  major  part  of  their  purpose  the  diminution 
and  control  of  conflict  and  conflict  attitudes  within  the  group, 
but  it  is  patent  also  that  some  of  these  institutions  and  some 
parts  of  these  moral  codes  have  also  operated,  often  designedly, 
to  inflame  and  perpetuate  suspicion,  hate,  and  conflict  between 
groups.  Whether  one’s  thought  turns  to  the  head-hunters  of 
the  Philippines  or  to  the  propaganda  of  hatred  waged  in 
Europe  and  no  less  in  “Christian”  America  during  the  world 
war  and  after,  evidences1  of  the  presence  of  the  conflict  complex, 
and  the  quickness  and  ease  with  which  the  hatred  impulse  comes 
to  the  surface,  are  everywhere  at  hand. 

In  one  aspect,  human  progress  is  measured  by  the  increasing 
size  of  the  social  unit,  whether  local  neighborhoods  or  nations, 
within  which  hate  and  conflict  are  suppressed  and  good  will 
and  co-operation  rendered  possible.  Many  who  hold  that  the 
world  war  and  its  aftermath  have  almost  undermined  civiliza¬ 
tion,  and  that  another  war 'would  complete  its  destruction,  have 
in  mind,  not  so  much  the  physical  destruction  of  wealth  and 
life,  as  a  reversion  to  universal  suspicion  and  hatred — the  “Balk- 
anizing”  not  only  of  Europe,  but  of  the  whole  world.  The 
effect  of  anger,  hatred,  and  their  whole  tribe  of  related  emo¬ 
tions  is  to  intensify  the  conflict  psychology,  to  render  co-opera¬ 
tion  impossible,  to  atrophy  the  rational  and  judicial  faculties. 

To  the  extent,  therefore,  that  the  anger-and-blame  reaction  is 
allowed  free  scope,  in  the  radical  or  in  anybody  else,  we  cannot 
look  either  for  just  diagnoses  of  the  causes  of  obstruction,  mal¬ 
adjustment,  and  conflict,  or  for  rational  and  peaceful  policies 
for  removing  these  causes.  Anger  in  itself  never  develops  a 
reasoned  plan  of  action,  and  without  plan  and  program  neither 
reactionism,  liberalism,  or  radicalism  ever  accomplishes  any¬ 
thing  but  discord  and  conflict. 

Even  where  scientific  analysis  shows  the  obstructions  to  be 
due  to  the  presence  of  personal  and  class  interests  or  unbending 
bigotry — e.g.,  the  conservative  vested  interests  discussed  in 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


173 


Chapters  IV  and  V, — the  radical  cannot  hope  to  remove  them 
or  appreciably  diminish  their  power  by  objurgation  and  emo¬ 
tional  indictment.  Militant  attack — propaganda,  and  perhaps 
in  some  cases,  as  a  last  resort,  force,  carefully  planned  and 
directed — will  be  the  most  effective  and  necessary  method  of 
liberal  or  radical  reform,  unless  the  obstructing  forces  can  be 
outwitted  in  their  own  strongholds,  diplomacy  and  professional 
politics.  But  the  results  of  such  attack  may  be  no  better  than 
a  conflict  of  special  interests,  and  the  radical  group  may  be 
reduced  to  the  moral  level  of  the  obstructionists,  unless,  after 
all,  the  personal  obstructions  are  regarded  in  an  impersonal 
light.  This  amounts  to  saying,  as  will  be  explained  later,1  that 
the  reforming  party  must  take  a  behavioristic  and  deterministic 
view  of  social  relations.  Such  a  view  rules  out  of  court  anger 
and  blame  except  as  the  initial  accompaniments  of  the  motivat¬ 
ing  balked  interest. 

Where,  on  the  other  hand,  the  obstructive  causes  are  physical, 
impersonally  institutional,  or  technological,  the  effective  method 
of  reform  can  be  militant,  militantly  propagandists,  diplo¬ 
matic,  or  political  (in  the  narrow  sense)  only  in  so  far  as  per¬ 
sonal  and  class  interest  obstructs  the  carrying  out  of  construc¬ 
tive  technological  reforms  and  advances.  Unfortunately,  one  of 
the  radicals’  most  telling  arguments  in  favor  of  militant  revo¬ 
lution  is  the  fact  that  personal  and  corporate  interests  do  stand 
in  the  way  of  technologically  constructive  reforms,  both  in 
organization  and  in  processes,  which  could  be  carried  out  in 
workmanlike  manner  were  the  properly  qualified  experts  free 
to  apply  themselves,  unhampered,  to  the  task. 

There  are,  then,  but  two  fundamental  methods  of  removing 
the  obstacles  to  the  attainment  of  the  ends  desired  by  progres¬ 
sives  and  radicals — conflict,  and  constructive  co-operation.  By 
the  conflict  method,  personal  and  class-interest  obstructions  are 
removed  either  by  force,  by  political  superiority  (more  votes 
and  more  political  solidarity,  greater  skill  in  the  political  game), 
or  by  massed  strength  of  organization  in  non-political  lines. 
By  the  construction  method,  the  problems  and  difficulties  of 
organization  and  technical  processes  are  critically  and  scien¬ 
tifically  analyzed,  and  the  technologists,  whether  engineers, 


1  See  pp.  215-219. 


174  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

medical  men,  economists  or  what  not,  set  to  work  to  solve  them. 
Under  the  constructive  method  must  be  placed  education  of  the 
people  with  regard  to  the  actual  nature  of  the  obstructions, 
whether  personal,  institutional,  or  technological. 

It  should  be  noted  that  the  blame  attitude  and  the  conflict 
method  are  always  subject  to  the  disadvantage  that  they  tend 
to  inflame  and  intensify  personalistic  opposition — the  very  op¬ 
position  or  obstructive  agency  against  which  they  are  directed, 
and  that  consequently  they  make  harder  their  own  task. 

In  any  case  dispassionate  leadership  is  necessary.  The  out¬ 
come  of  the  balking  of  interests  and  of  desire-reinforcement  will 
vary,  in  the  absence  of  leadership  and  discipline,  with  different' 
temperaments;  and  the  methods  of  attempted  reform  will  be 
as  diverse  as  are  the  types  of  will  and  intellect.  In  some  cases  the 
net  result  will  be  mere  reflex  and  unreflecting  violence.  At  the 
opposite  extreme  will  be  cool-headed,  scientific  achievement.  The 
more  obscure  and  complex,  the  more  powerful  and  subtle,  and 
the  more  intrenched  in  human  habituation  the  obstructions  are, 
the  greater  is  the  need  for  inductive,  objective  analysis  and  the 
more  imperative  is  rational  and  informed  leadership. 

We  are  thus  brought  to  the  necessity  of  comparing  the  psy¬ 
chology  of  radical  leaders  with  that  of  their  followers.  It  fol¬ 
lows,  too,  that  in  temperament,  in  training,  and  in  discipline 
are  to  be  sought  the  characteristics  which  differentiate  the  lead¬ 
ers  from  the  followers  in  radical  movements;  and  the  specific 
kind  of  contribution  which  different  temperaments  are  likely; 
to  make  to  progressivism  or  radicalism. 

Contemporary  psychologists  are  wary  of  types  and  classifica¬ 
tions.  To  speak  of  mental  “type”  seems  to  them  to  smack  of 
an  a  priori,  unscientific  attitude,  especially  if  a  classification 
suggests  a  division  into  emotional  and  intellectual  types.  This 
caution  is  perhaps  due  to  the  observed  fact  that  the  same  in¬ 
dividual  may  exhibit  a  hair-trigger  motor  responsiveness  and 
a  thoroughly  undisciplined  emotional  attitude  in  one  sphere  of 
interests,  and  a  calculating,  rational  intellectualism  in  another. 
The  fact  that  the  average  mind  is  compartmentized,  and  ad¬ 
dicted  to  glaring  inconsistencies  of  attitude  and  method,  makes 
classification  seem  futile,  or  at  least  dubious. 

All  this  may  be  admitted ;  and  yet,  not  unscientifically,  we 
may  recognize  different  attitudes,  different  modes  of  response, 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


175 


different  methods  of  attack,  when  some  particular  type  of  inter¬ 
est — say  the  economic — is  balked.  With  regard  to  a  particular 
situation,  or  a  specific  issue,  it  is  difficult  to  see  how  it  is  possible 
to  escape  the  conviction  that  some  individuals  react  in  a  pri¬ 
marily  emotional  (praise  and  blame)  way,  while  others  react 
in  a  disciplined,  rational  manner. 

Individuals  may  therefore  be  classified  on  the  basis  of  the 
degree  to  which,  with  reference  to  a  particular  interest,  they 
habitually  subject  their  instincts  and  emotions  to  the  control 
and  direction  of  their  intellects  and  reasoning  powers,  or  in 
other  words,  upon  the  relative  extent  to  which  their  conduct  is 
determined  by  unreflective  motor  and  emotional  complexes  and 
by  judicial  or  scientific  rational  analysis. 

For  the  purpose  in  hand,  Professor  Giddings’  classification 
comes  nearest  to  meeting  our  needs.2  He  distinguishes  four 
mental  types,  ideo-motor,  ideo-emotional,  dogmatic-emotional 
and  critically  intellectual.  These  types  correspond  roughly  to 
motivation  and  control  by  sensibility,  emotion,  sentiment  or 
belief,  and  impersonal  rational  intelligence,  respectively.3  The 
first  three  types  react  more  to  convictions  involving  personal 
praise  and  blame;  the  last  to  perception  of  impersonal  causes. 
The  first  three,  whether  they  happen  to  hold  any  definite,  con¬ 
scious  convictions  as  to  “free  will”  or  not,  tend  to  reinforce 
their  balked  desires  as  if  all  obstructions  were  attributable  to 
responsible  personal  agencies.  The  last  type  recognizes  per¬ 
sonal  as  well  as  impersonal  agencies  of  obstruction,  but  regards 
the  personal  from  the  behavioristic,  as  it  does  the  impersonal 
from  the  deterministic,  standpoint. 

The  bearing  of  these  typical  distinctions  on  methods  of  desire- 
reinforcement,  and  on  the  psychology  of  rational  leadership  will 
be  evident. 

In  the  two  lower  types,  the  ideo-motor  and  the  ideo-emotional, 
the  fear-anger  emotions  attendant  upon  the  obstruction  of  de¬ 
sire  are  most  likely  to  find  expression  in  blame.  The  obstruction 
is  apprehended  in  terms  of  personal  causation. 

2  “A  Provisional  Distribution  of  the  Population  of  the  United  States 
into  Psychological  Classes,”  Psychological  Review,  Vol.  VIII,  July,  1901, 
pp.  337-349.  Also  Readings  in  Descriptive  and  Historical  Sociology,  190G, 
pp.  236-239. 

3  Cf.  Jastrow,  The  Psychology  of  Conviction,  1918,  Ch.  1. 


176  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

When  natural  persons  are  at  hand  to  whom  blame  may  be 
attached,  the  emotional  temperament,  undisciplined  to  scientific 
method  and  attitude,  makes  them  the  scape-goats.  Anthropology 
furnishes  boundless  illustration  of  this  personalistic  fear-anger 
reaction,  from  the  blame  and  punishment  of  mothers  of  twins 4 
to  the  burning  of  witches  and  the  deportation  of  bolsheviks. 
These  blame-reactions  are  naive  methods  of  removing  the  ob¬ 
stacles  to  wish-fulfillment,  especially  to  the  desire  for  security. 

When  natural  persons  cannot  be  blamed  for  an  evil,  super¬ 
natural  personal  agencies  are  created  for  the  purpose,  and  the 
world  is  populated  with  evil  spirits,  devils,  demons,  and  ill- 
dispositioned  gods.  Belief  in  spirits  and  gods  then  re-directs 
fear,  anger,  and  blame  to  natural  persons,  who  are  held  repon- 
sible  for  displeasing  the  gods  and  bringing  down  their  wrath 
upon  the  social  group. 

Uncritical,  naive  personification,  or  personalistic  symboliza¬ 
tion,  is  by  no  means  limited  to  naturefolk,  or  to  the  realm  of 
religion.  The  naive  socialist,  however  well-read  in  his  Marx 
and  Engels  he  may  be,  nevertheless  welcomes  the  hog-jowled 
capitalist  of  Art  Young’s  cartoons 5 6  as  a  personal  object,  not 
wholly  of  a  merely  symbolical  significance,  upon  whom  his 
hatred  may  find  momentary  release.  In  the  same  way  the 
conservative,  his  equanimity  and  comfort  disturbed  by  labor 
unrest,  vents  his  blame  on  the  ‘ 1  agitator.  ’ ’  It  was  noticeable 
that  the  armistice  day  parades  in  1918  carried  many  black 
coffins  labeled  “the  Kaiser,”  or  “Wilhelm” — a  striking  ex¬ 
ample  of  symbolization  and  blame-fixation  through  personifica¬ 
tion. 

Such  personal  scape-goats,  found  or  created  as  objects  for 
blame  and  hate,  serve  in  emotional  minds  as  definite  stimuli  of 
reinforcement  and  motor-attack.  They  give  definite  objective 
for  the  aggressive  disposition  aroused  by  the  balking  of  desire. 
In  temperaments  not  so  aggressively  emotional,  they  are  less 
likely  to  stimulate  motor  attack.  Such  minds  find  release  in 
objurgation  or  verbal  attack,  which  serves  in  part  as  momen¬ 
tary  release  of  anger  complexes  and  in  part  as  a  defense  mech- 

4  Kingsley,  Travels  in  West  Africa,  2nd  edition,  abridged,  1S97,  pp.  323- 

328. 

6  See  the  files  of  the  Masses,  the  Liberator,  and  the  Federated  Press 
Bulletin. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


177 


anism  against  consciousness  of  fear  and  disinclination  to  fight — 
that  is,  against  self-reproach. 

Effective  leadership  and  organization,  holding  the  volatile- 
minded  rank  and  file  to  a  steady  program,  is  supplied  by  the 
more  persistent  temperament  of  the  dogmatic-emotional  minds, 
whose  motor  and  emotional  releases  are  of  a  less  hair-trigger 
type.  Such  minds  are  also  given  to  intense  resentments,  but 
their  resentment  is  steadier  and  often  amounts  to  sustained 
moral  indignation.  They  are  given  to  personalistic  fixation  of 
blame,  but  they  may  also  have  very  considerable  perception  of 
the  non-personal  causes  of  existing  evils  and  obstructions,  and 
may  consequently  make  use  of  the  objective  scientific  analyses 
furnished  by  the  relatively  disinterested  critical  intellectuals 
not  engaged  in  the  actual  “ movement.’ ’ 

In  the  characteristics  of  the  dogmatic-emotional  attitude  we 
have  the  key  to  the  explanation,  as  to  the  requirements,  of  the 
actual,  effective  leadership  of  radical  movements.  Most  active 
radical  leaders,  so  far  as  concerns  the  movement  that  claims 
their  major  interest  and  attention,  are  of  this  type  of  mind. 
It  is  therefore  desirable  to  review  its  salient  characteristics  with 
some  care. 

The  dogmatic-emotional  mind  holds  to  its  beliefs,  valuations, 
and  “ principles’’  with  intense  conviction  and  unswerving  loy¬ 
alty.  Its  principles  may  or  may  not  have  been  arrived  at 
through  objective  processes  of  investigation  and  inductive  logic. 
Its  observational  and  reasoning  processes  are  more  or  less 
strongly  influenced  by  its  emotional  interests,  and,  while  usually 
biased  by  them,  may  be  at  times  aided  by  them,  e.g.,  by  sym¬ 
pathetic  insight,  where  the  colder  critical  intellectual  would 
fail  to  sense  essential  realities.  In  any  case,  its  convictions, 
once  formed,  are  held  to  with  dogmatic  persistency.  Argument 
will  not  dislodge  them.  They  become  the  premises  of  its  reason¬ 
ing,  and  by  emotional  attachment  are  placed  beyond  the  reach 
of  criticism.  In  the  more  intense  dogmatic-emotional  types, 
convictions  are  held  to  with  religious  devotion.  We  all  know 
single  taxers,  socialists,  “open  shop”  propagandists,  defenders 
of  the  classics,  advocates  of  vocational  education,  feminists  and 
anti-feminists,  high  protectionists,  eugenists,  devoted  Christians, 
and  sincere  atheists  of  this  type. 

The  dogmatic-emotional  mind  is  rarely  cynical,  as  what  passes 


178  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

for  the  critically  intellectual  sometimes  appears  to  be,  for  cyn¬ 
icism  is  an  attitudinal  complex  serving  as  a  defense  attitude, 
and  the  dogmatic-emotional  individual  is  usually  something  of 
a  fighter.  If  the  dogmatic-emotional  mind  is  ever  pessimistic 
its  pessimism  is  not  the  kind  that  paralyzes  the  will  to  action. 
It  may  be  vindictive  and  domineering  and  it  generally  has  an 
inward  austerity  and  capacity  for  self-denial,  which,  however, 
may  be  disguised  under  a  genial  exterior.  It  may  or  may  not 
be  capable  of  deep  and  active  sympathies.  Where  it  is,  they 
help  to  intensify  its  perception  of  social  wrongs,  and  furnish 
part  of  the  explanation  as  to  why  it  is  more  persistently  and 
intensely  motivated  by  moral  indignation  than  are  the  other, 
either  lower  or  higher,  mental  types.  It  tends,  more  than  the 
intellectual,  to  attach  blame  to  persons  or  to  classes  of  persons, 
and  is  likely  to  conceive  reform  and  revolution  in  terms  of  mili¬ 
tant  combat  (e.g.,  class  struggle),  or  of  diplomacy  and  political 
intrigue. 

When  such  a  mind  gets  set  in  a  conservative  channel  it  sup¬ 
plies  the  stalwart,  sincere  conservatives,  who  are  so,  not  so  much 
from  personal  interest,  as  from  strong  moral  and  intellectual 
conviction. 

When,  however,  the  dogmatic-emotional  mind  happens  to  get 
directed  into  the  radical  channel,  either  because  of  balked  per¬ 
sonal  interests,  or  because  its  keen  sympathy  makes  the  wrongs 
and  obstructed  interests  of  others  its  own,  it  attacks  institu¬ 
tions  with  vigor  equal  to  that  with  which  the  dogmatic  conserva¬ 
tive  defends  them,  and  conceives  an  equally  strong  antipathy, 
expressed  in  terms  of  personal  blame,  toward  those  who  repre¬ 
sent  and  defend  the  offensive  institutions. 

Since  the  dogmatic-emotional  radical  holds  to  his  principles, 
be  they  economic,  political,  or  moral,  with  religious  devotion,  it 
follows  that  he  will  not  easily  be  drawn  off  from  the  attempt  to 
put  them  into  practice.  That  is,  he  reinforces  his  balked  desires 
with  vigor  and  determination.  Obstruction  and  opposition 
merely  increase  his  reinforcement  and  intensify  his  resentment, 
until  finally  his  “cause”  is  made  a  matter  of  truly  religious 
significance,  of  religious  hope,  and  may  even  come  to  have  some 
of  the  mystical  and  militant  accompaniments  of  religion  in  the 
narrower  sense. 

Not  all  dogmatic-emotional  radicals  become  leaders,  of  course. 
But  the  emotional  and  intellectual  qualities  of  this  type  of  mind 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


179 


fit  it  for  the  development  of  the  specific  characteristics  neces¬ 
sary  in  the  successful  active  leadership  of  an  unpopular  radical 
movement.  Such  leadership  calls  for  unremitting  hard  work, 
sacrifice  of  all  narrow  and  immediate  personal  interests,  indif¬ 
ference  to  rebuffs  and  to  the  misunderstanding,  contempt,  and 
insults  of  respectability,  patience  to  withstand  the  strain  of 
waiting,  without  pessimism  or  cynicism,  during  the  long,  slow 
period  of  growth  of  an  unpopular  movement,  ability  to  visualize 
distant  ends,  capacity  for  organization  and  inspiration,  and 
above,  all,  such  reinforcement  of  desire  or  interest  as  will  create 
that  quality  of  dogged  persistence  and  determination  which 
finally  accomplishes  the  aim  of  the  movement,  if  such  accom¬ 
plishment  is  humanly  possible.6 

In  this  effective  reinforcement  of  desire  the  combative  in¬ 
stinct  plays  an  important  part.  The  active  militant  leaders 
of  progressive  or  radical  movements  opposed  by  powerful,  en¬ 
trenched  personal  and  corporate  interests,  must  not  only  be  mo¬ 
tivated  by  deep  desires  strongly  obstructed,  but  also  somewhat 
amply  endowed  with  the  fighting  spirit.  Such  a  temperament 
has  its  advantages  and  disadvantages.  It  will  avoid  the  refine¬ 
ment  of  analysis,  the  meticulousness  of  judgment,  which  some¬ 
times  put  the  intellectual  in  the  position  of  Buridan’s  ass, 
starving  between  two  hay  stacks  for  want  of  decision.  It 
will  proceed  to  push  a  plan  of  reform  through  to  success 
against  the  determined  obstructionist  tactics  of  conservatives 
and  reactionaries,  where  the  more  philosophical,  critically- 
intellectual  temperament  would  fail,  because  of  indecision, 
lack  of  personalistic  aggression,  or  inadequate  desire-reinforce¬ 
ment. 

The  combative  temperament  is  likely,  in  its  vigorous  attack 
upon  the  personal  agents  of  obstructive  institutions,  to  conceive 
the  problem  of  reform  or  revolution  wholly  in  terms  of  con¬ 
flict  or  of  politics,  whereas  the  fundamental  obstructions,  as 
we  have  seen,  may  be  of  an  impersonal  nature  and  may  require 
for  their  removal  not  merely  the  combating  or  political  out¬ 
witting  of  personal  opposition,  but  painstaking  scientific  analy¬ 
sis  of  the  whole  situation. 

The  less  decisive  and  combative  intellectual  will  in  the  long 
run  delve  deeper  in  critical  evaluation  of  the  obstructions  to 


8  Cf.  Buchanan,  The  Story  of  a  Labor  Agitator,  1903. 


180  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

progress,  find  the  impersonal  forces  back  of  personal  attitudes, 
and  by  attention  to  these  more  fundamental  causes,  lay  the 
foundations  to  thoroughgoing  social  transformation,  while  the 
more  combative  and  emotional  mind  is  planning  a  campaign  to 
crush  its  enemies.  The  nature  and  function  of  the  critically 
intellectual  mind  in  relation  to  liberalism  and  radicalism  must, 
however,  be  left  to  later  discussion.  It  is  evident  that  both 
types  of  leadership  are  necessary,  as  long  as  men  are  ruled  by 
emotion  so  much  more  than  they  are  by  reason  and  scientific 
knowledge. 

In  the  field  of  action,  to  summarize,  radicalism  has  for  its  im¬ 
mediate  purpose  the  wresting  of  control  from  the  conservatives 
and  reactionaries.  Its  object  in  acquiring  control  is  to  remove 
the  obstacles  to  desire-fulfillment — fundamentally,  to  the  desire 
for  freedom.  Radical  method,  to  be  effective,  must  therefore 
involve  three  tasks  or  processes:  (1)  social  diagnosis,  to  de¬ 
termine  the  true  causes  of  obstruction;  (2)  propaganda  and 
education,  in  order  that  an  effectively  large  number  of  people 
may  be  dynamically  conscious  of  these  causes;  and  organiza¬ 
tion,  in  order  that  their  conscious  knowledge  may  be  effective  in 
action;  and  (3)  planned  attack  upon  the  obstructions.7 

Obstructions  to  desire  and  interest  are  embodied  in  both 
personal  agencies  and  in  impersonal  conditions,  institutional 
and  physical.  This  very  important  fact  tends  to  be  overlooked 
by  the  rank-and-file  radicals,  and  by  not  a  few  leaders,  because 
of  the  instinctive  anger-and-blame  reaction.  There  has  thus 
developed,  in  both  conservative  and  radical,  a  chronic  psychology 
of  conflict,  a  pugnacity  complex,  a  tendency  to  give  way  to  sus¬ 
picion  and  hatred.  The  social  conflict  thus  tends  to  be  staged, 
not  upon  the  plane  of  rational  analysis  of  causes  and  workman¬ 
like  plan  for  dealing  with  them,  but  upon  the  plane  of  militant 
force,  or  political  and  diplomatic  outwitting  of  human  adver¬ 
saries.  In  the  clash  of  class  and  other  conflicts,  the  deep-seated 
impersonal  lines  of  causation  are  lost  sight  of  or  ignored.  The 
initial  anger-and-blame  emotion  incident  to  the  original  balked 
interest  is  augmented  and  intensified  by  the  conflict  itself;  and 
the  bitterness  of  the  conflict  is  further  intensified,  until  it  be¬ 
comes  a  headlong  clash  of  special  interests  without  probability 


7  The  second  phase,  propaganda,  education,  and  organization,  we  have 
touched  upon  only  incidentally. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


181 


of  constructive  results.  Even  for  effective  militant  attack  on 
personal  obstructions,  intelligent  leadership  is  necessary,  if 
radical  action  is  to  be  effectively  and  constructively  directed  to 
the  removal  of  both  personal  and  impersonal  obstacles. 

In  relation  to  qualifications  for  leadership,  the  question  of 
mental  types  is  of  great  importance.  Accepting,  as  adequate 
to  present  purposes,  Giddings’  classification,  we  have  seen  that 
the  rank-and-file  radicals  (like  the  general  population  at  large) 
fall  preponderantly  under  the  two  lowest  and  most  volatile 
types,  the  ideo-motor  and  the  ideo-emotional ;  while  the  radical 
leaders  are  mostly  derived  from  the  more  stable  and  determined 
dogmatic-emotional  type.  The  two  lower  types  easily  resort  to 
violence,  which  may  or  may  not  be  “radical.”  In  any  case, 
however,  effective  radical  action  is  not  to  be  looked  for  from 
these  types,  except  where  they  are  organized  and  disciplined 
by  the  more  intelligent  and  steadfast  dogmatic-emotional  leaders. 
“Solidarity”  and  organization  for  attack  are  insisted  upon  as 
the  prime  essential  of  radical  method  by  the  leaders  of  extreme 
economic  radicalism,  who  are  mainly  of  the  dogmatic-emotional 
type  and  who  see  obstructions  as  mainly  embodied  in  class  in¬ 
terest  and  selfishness.  Further  analysis  of  the  characteristics 
of  the  higher  dogmatic-emotional  types  shows  that  while  they 
hold  to  and  advance  their  convictions  with  a  religious  devotion, 
they  may  also  approach  the  critically  intellectual  level,  while 
at  the  same  time  they  avoid  the  indecision  likely  to  characterize 
the  latter  type. 

2.  The  Specific  Methods  of  Radicalism. 

Generally  speaking,  the  tone  of  specific  radical  methods  is 
set  by  the  type  of  opposition  offered  by  conservatism.  The 
interested  conservative  offers  much  more  positive  and  pointed 
opposition  than  does  the  disinterested.  We  have  considered  the 
methods  of  the  former  type  of  conservatism  with  comparative 
fullness,  but  did  not  find  it  necessary  to  attempt  an  extended 
discussion  of  disinterested  conservative  methods,  largely  be¬ 
cause  they  do  not,  so  definitely  as  those  of  the  vested  interests, 
rise  to  the  level  of  conscious  policies.  Nevertheless  the  radical 
has  to  deal  with  the  attitudes  of  the  disinterested,  as  well  as  with 
the  consciously  designed  oppositions  of  the  interested,  conserva¬ 
tive,  and  we  will  first  consider  briefly  the  radical  methods  bear¬ 
ing  on  these  disinterested  conservative  attitudes. 


182  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

It  is  easy  to  see,  in  general,  how  disinterested  conservative 
methods,  ranging  from  purely  unconscious  habitual  inertia  to' 
definite  and  purposeful  sustaining  of  educational  programs, 
affect  the  radical’s  problem  of  policy. 

One  of  the  liberal’s  or  radical’s  primary  tasks  is  to  overcome 
the  indifference  and  inertia  of  the  contented  conservative.  In 
most  ordinary  situations,  the  conservative  has  only  to  sit  still 
and  do  nothing,  holding  “theorists”  and  “reformers”  in  good- 
natured  contempt.8  So  far  as  he  has  to  deal  with  the  general 
disinterested  conservative  element  the  radical  has  to  break  the 
conservative’s  habit  circuit  and  to  the  best  of  his  ability  destroy 
the  (psychologically)  impressive  power  of  the  established  and 
conventional  loci  of  prestige  and  sentimental,  uncritical  loyalty.’ 

The  conservative  holds  the  defensive  positions.  The  burden, 
not  only  of  proof,  but  of  persuasion — the  breaking  down  of  senti¬ 
ment  and  prejudice — is  upon  the  radical.  If  the  conservative 

A 

could  always  be  brought  out  to  fight  in  the  open,  these  tasks] 
would  not  be  so  difficult.  But  the  conservative  is  an  adept — 
often  unconsciously  so — at  shifting  his  position  and  refusing  to 
join  issue.  This  trait  results  from  his  characteristic  blinking 
of  facts  which  he  does  not  like,  throwing  into  the  spotlight 
those  he  does  like,  and  his  resultant  skepticism  with  regard  to 
social  maladjustments  and  evils.  Here  the  rose-colored  optimism 
of  comfort  plays  its  obstructive  and  distortive  part,  and  it  is  a 
task  of  no  mean  proportions  for  liberal  or  radical  to  counteract 
it  by  showing  up  the  facts  in  the  true — or  what  they  at  least  | 
think  to  be  the  true — light. 

How  dangerous  to  truth  and  objectivity  this  situation  is,  is  of 
course  clear.  No  brief  can  be  held  for  the  superior  objectivity 
of  radical  as  compared  with  conservative.  Objectivity  is  at  a 
discount  in  all  but  the  highest  critical  minds  in  each  case.  The 
worst  aspect  of  the  situation  is  that  avoidance  and  distortion 
(either  conscious  or  unconscious)  on  one  side  occasion  and  neces¬ 
sitate  a  counterbalancing  intensifying  and  centralizing  of  em¬ 
phasis  on  the  other. 

When  mere  inertia  fails,  or  when  the  optimistic  bias  no 
longer  suffices,  and  the  conservative  is  compelled  to  make  some 

8  “Mere  theorist  .  .  .  is  a  common  taunt  of  men  who  cannot  render 
a  reason  against  men  who  can.”  Bonar,  Letters  of  Ricardo  to  Malthas , 
1887,  Preface,  p.  xii. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  183 

kind  of  active  defense,  his  lond  appeal  is  first  to  precedent — 
to  the  experience  and  judgments  of  the  past.  When  this  appeal 
is  frankly  made  on  rational  grounds,  when  it  is  based  on  actual 
analysis  of  the  factual  experience  of  the  past,  the  radical’s  task 
of  reformation  may  not  be  easy.  That  depends  on  the  circum¬ 
stances  of  the  case — at  least  so  far  as  concerns  intellectual  con¬ 
viction.  But  when  the  appeal  is  made,  as  it  usually  is,  on  the 
sentimental  ground  of  attachment  and  loyalty,  the  radical’s 
task  is  much  harder.  Sentiment  is  less  easily  changed  than 
opinion,  and  in  attacking  sentimental  attachment  to  the  past, 
the  radical  is  likely  to  encounter  a  network  of  hidden  prejudices 
inrooted  in  pride,  in  dislike  of  mental  and  moral  effort,  and  in 
honest  idealization,  which  are  extremely  difficult  to  loosen.  Just 
here  also,  he  will  often  fail  to  distinguish  with  sufficient  care 
between  the  sentiment-mongering  of  vested-interest  chicane  and 
the  honest,  sincere  sentiment,  attachments,  and  loyalties  of  the 
disinterested  conservative.  Here,  too,  is  where  the  radical,  hav¬ 
ing  cast  off  his  own  sentimental  moorings,  has  need  of  a  tact  and 
diplomacy  which  he  frequently  does  not  evince.  For  in  meeting 
sentimental  objections,  persuasion — the  tactful  meeting  of  senti¬ 
ment  by  sentiment — is  more  effective  than  cold  logic.  With 
youth,  scientific,  objective  reasoning  may  break  up  undesirable 
sentimental  attachments,  because  they  are  not  yet  rooted  deeply 
in  long-standing  habits  of  thought  and  attitude ;  but  not  so  with 
middle  age.  Whatever  be  the  diplomacy,  or  the  lack  of  it, 
with  which  liberal  or  radical  handles  this  appeal  to  the  past,  his 
method  essentially  amounts  to  opposing  to  it  an  appeal  to  the 
future,  and  in  gradually  causing  the  conservative  to  be  a  little 
ashamed  of  contentment  with  past  mediocrities,  deficiency  in 
moral  courage,  and  lack  of  constructive  imagination.  Liberal¬ 
ism  and  radicalism  will  naturally  have  an  easier  task  of  diplo¬ 
matic  persuasion  in  those  times  and  places  where  “progressiv- 
ism”  is  held  in  high  repute.  No  one  likes  to  be  thought,  even 
if  he  is  not  called,  a  fossil  or  mossback. 

The  conservative’s  next  move  is  to  seek  limitation  of  discus¬ 
sion  and  criticism.  Beyond  question,  many  conservatives  do 
sincerely  feel  that  some  principles,  beliefs,  and  institutions 
should  be  held  above  criticism,  and  that  it  is  disloyal  and  sacri¬ 
legious,  or  at  the  least  an  exhibition  of  impropriety,  to  discuss 
them  in  any  other  spirit  than  that  of  unquestioning  reverence. 


184  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

We  are  not  here  speaking  of  the  interested  conservative’s  de¬ 
vice  of  censorship.  The  disinterested  conservative’s  sense  of  pro¬ 
priety,  his  sensitive  propensity  to  be  “shocked,”  his  avoidance 
of  discussions  which  may  bring  out  differences  of  personal  opin¬ 
ion  and  sentiment  on  fundamental  questions  of  politics  and 
economics,  and  especially  of  religion,  tend,  however,  to  amount 
to  the  same  thing  as  censorship.  It  took  courageous  radicals 
like  Havelock  Ellis,  Prince  Morrow,  and  Jane  Addams,  for  in¬ 
stance,  to  lead  the  way  in  breaking  down  the  conspiracy  of 
silence  which  so  long  held  up  all  intelligent  attempt  to  solve 
the  problems  of  sex  hygiene  and  sex  ethics. 

There  are  important  border  line  cases  in  which  it  would  be 
difficult  or  erroneous  to  draw  a  dividing  line  between  vested- 
interest  censorship  and  the  limitations  desired  by  disinterested 
conservatives.  This  is  notably  true  of  restrictions  on  academic 
freedom — whether  in  cases  involving  economic  issues  or  in  those 
strangely  anachronic  cases  in  which  attacks  are  made  on  the 
“teaching  of  evolution,”  or,  more  generally,  where  denomina¬ 
tional  institutions  rigidly  exclude  the  teaching  of  any  scientific 
theories  which  by  casuistic  logic  cannot,  if  occasion  arise,  be 
made  to  square  with  the  Biblical  account  of  creation.  An  illumi¬ 
nating  collection  of  similar  anachronical  limitations  could 
probably  be  made  from  the  deliberations  of  school  boards  and 
text  book  commissions.  But  when  this  region  is  approached, 
the  liberal  and  radical  have  to  deal  not  only  with  sentimental 
avoidance,  but  with  something  that  has  the  earmarks  of  sheer 
stupidity,  the  most  difficult  human  trait  to  deal  with. 

Finally,  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  the  conservatives — usu¬ 
ally  a  combination  of  disinterested  and  interested — commonly 
have  control  of  most  of  our  educational  resources,  including  not 
only  the  public  schools  but  boards  and  faculties  of  the  institu¬ 
tions  of  higher  learning,  and  the  press  and  publishing  business. 
Against  these  controls,  liberal  and  radical  bring  to  bear  (a) 
the  general  propaganda  resources — oral  and  printed — at  their 
disposal,  (b)  the  radical  press,  including  some  few  publishing 
houses  which  accept,  if  they  do  not  specialize  in,  radical  matter 
which  other  companies  avoid,  and  (c)  the  project  now  gaining 
headway,  of  workers’  education  through  “trade  union  colleges” 
and  “workers’  universities.” 

Coming  now  to  the  center  of  the  conflict  between  conserva- 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


185 


tism  and  radicalism,  we  have  to  pass  in  review  the  methods  of 
radicalism  against  the  great  variety  of  policies  practiced  by 
the  interested  conservatives. 

First  of  these,  in  point  of  the  perspective  of  public  atten¬ 
tion,  is  violence.  When  the  social  history  of  the  years  1914  to 
1921  is  objectively  studied,  men  will  marvel  at  the  scope  and 
abandon  of  the  popular,  and  the  inspired,  literature  devoted  to 
anathematizing  the  violence  of  the  radicals,  at  the  very  time 
when  the  whole  respectable,  conservative,  “ Christian”  world 
was  indulging  in  orgies  of  violence  beyond  the  wildest  fancy  of 
a  philosophical  Sorel  or  a  literary  Sienkiewicz.  But  when  the 
passions  are  stirred  to  the  depths,  and  men  think  they  are 
fighting  for  the  preservation  of  institutions  and  principles  which 
they  are  led  to  hold  dearer  than  life  and  reason,  consistency 
must  not  be  expected.  The  only  practical  point  is  that  while 
much  that  has  been  written  about  radical  violence  is  sincere 
and  some  of  it  objectively  truthful,  much  of  it  must  be  taken 
for  what  it  is — at  best,  passionate  rant,  expressive  of  rage  due 
to  the  balking  of  the  desire  for  security;  at  worst,  a  clamor 
raised  to  draw  attention  away  from  the  real  issue  of  privilege 
versus  democracy. 

Let  us  pass  by  this  rant  and  clamor — of  both  sides.  It  is 
unnecessary  for  us  to  attempt  to  say  how  much  of  an  enemy  of 
law  and  order  the  radical  is,  or  just  how  dishonest  and  un¬ 
scrupulously  exploitative  and  self-seeking  the  vested-interest 
conservative.  The  primary  function  of  the  fair-minded  student 
is  neither  to  defend  nor  to  condemn  violence,  but  to  find  the 
fundamental  causes,  which  explain  why  it  is  resorted  to.9 


9  Here  is  a  field  singularly  neglected  by  the  psychologists  and  sociolo¬ 
gists.  There  is  no  outstanding  scientific  literature  on  the  subject.  The 
literature  of  the  “sociology  of  conflict”  is  concerned  with  general  results, 
and  with  social  and  economic  causes,  rather  than  with  psychological 
motivation.  Aside  from  such  historical  studies!  as  Robert  Hunter’s  Vio¬ 
lence  and  the  Labor  Movement,  the  various  government  reports  on  vio¬ 
lence  against  the  I.  W.  W.,  etc.,  during  war  time  (see  e.g.,  the  Report 
of  the  President's  Mediation  Commission)  and  such  studies  as  the  Inter¬ 
church  World  Movement  Report  on  the  Steel  Strike,  and  the  'Sew  Repub¬ 
lic's  series  of  articles  on  “The  Labor  Spy,”  1921,  about  the  only  serious 
attempt  in  English  to  delve  down  to  fundamental  questions  of  motivation 
of  radical  violence  is  to  be  found  in  the  various  papers  of  Carleton 
Parker,  and  these  leave  something  to  be  desired  from  the  standpoint  of 
an  acceptable  scientific  psychology. 


186  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

One  salient  fact  is  clear:  violence  is  not  confined  to  radicals. 
Impulses  to  violence  are  common  to  all.  Into  its  probable  prim¬ 
itive  instinctive  motivation  we  need  not  inquire.  Generally 
speaking,  violence,  where  not  institutional  (as  in  legal  punish¬ 
ment),  is  always  found  in  close  connection  with  anger,  and  anger 
in  connection  with  balked  desires  and  activities.  Much  appar¬ 
ently  spontaneous  conduct  is  merely  a  method  of  desire-rein¬ 
forcement  on  the  part  of  hair-trigger  ideo-motor  temperaments 
which  can  brook  no  opposition,  unless  repressed  by  discipline 
and  fear  into  a  quasi-servile  obedience  to  superior  power  and 
authority.  In  the  somewhat  higher,  dogmatic-emotional  tem¬ 
peraments,  violence  may  eventuate  only  after  a  period  of  per- 
sonalistic  blame-reactions,  often  verbal — so  verbal  in  fact  that 
the  whole  anger-complex  may  be  dissolved  in  words.  Still,  suf¬ 
ficient  brooding  upon  wrongs  and  oppositions,  sufficiently  sus¬ 
tained,  and  voluble  and  dogmatic  assertion  of  the  rightness  of 
one’s  own  cause  and  the  devilish  depravity  of  the  opposition 
may  fire  even  peaceful  temperaments  to  violent  reactions. 

Herd  instincts,  especially  the  immediate  impulse  to  attack  the 
stranger — an  impulse  partly  due  to  fear,  partly,  perhaps,  to 
innate  sadistic  tendencies — are  also  operative. 

These  herd  impulses  to  the  use  of  force  become  conventional¬ 
ized  and  legalized.  Violence,  properly  ritualized,  becomes  one 
of  the  recognized  legitimate  methods  of  conservatism.  Were 
this  not  true,  there  never  would  have  been  a  war  between  civil¬ 
ized  peoples. 

The  motivation  of  these  legalized  violences  may  cover  a  wide 
range.  Group  safety  is  an  ever-present  motive;  but  acquisitive 
desire  is  a  motive  not  merely  sporadic  in  occurrence.  From  the 
exercise  of  the  police  power  in  the  protection  of  property  to 
wars  of  economic  aggression,  it  plays  its  part. 

Finally,  a  whole  community  or  a  whole  people  may  get  into 
a  state  of  nervous  irritation  and  fly  into  a  rageful  violence  at 
the  slightest  provocation.  Thus  violence  ranges  all  the  way 
from  neuropathology  to  law  and  statecraft. 

We  are  now  in  position  to  understand  that  mere  disorderly, 
violent  attack  upon  institutions  or  persons  who  happen  momen¬ 
tarily  to  be  the  termini  of  anger  and  resentment  releases  does 
not  constitute  radicalism.  Discomfort,  release  of  repressed 
energy,  transference,  and  reinforcement  may  lead  merely  to 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


187 


hysteria  and  emotional  slashing  about,  mob  violence,  and  pur¬ 
poseless  feudism.  A  lynching  mob  is  usually  composed  of  con¬ 
servative  citizens.  The  machine  smashers  in  the  English  textile 
industries  during  the  Industrial  Revolution  were  not  radicals ; 
usually  machine  smashing  was  the  result  of  reflexive  anger  ex¬ 
pressing  itself  in  organized  rioting.  Whatever  else  it  may  be¬ 
token,  the  breaking  up  of  Non-Partisan  League  meetings  by 
members  of  the  American  Legion  does  not  represent  radicalism, 
nor  do  the  outrages  attributable  to  the  Ku  Klux. 

Violent  methods  may  be  used  in  the  interest  of  either  radical¬ 
ism  or  reactionism,  but  radicalism  as  a  social  attitude  involves 
the  persistent  desire  for  thoroughgoing  and  fundamental  inno¬ 
vation,  usually  against  opposition.  Explosive  release  of  re¬ 
pressed  desire  or  impulsive  anger-and-blame  attack  will  occa¬ 
sionally  take  place  in  the  rank-and-file  representatives  of  con¬ 
servative  and  reactionary,  as  well  as  of  the  radical,  attitudes. 
Nevertheless  violent  action,  not  taking  into  consideration  war 
and  other  legalized  violence,  is  to  be  expected  somewhat  more 
frequently  in  those  social  classes  in  which  there  is  the  greater 
amount  and  intensity  of  desire-repression  and  obstruction  of 
interest  and  ambition.  For  these  classes  have,  in  consequence 
of  repression  and  obstruction,  the  strongest  emotional  impulses 
to  resentment  and  blame,  and  the  broadest  rational  ground  for 
desiring  thoroughgoing  change. 

Nevertheless,  the  difference  between  conservative  and  radical, 
with  regard  to  tendencies  to  violence,  is  not  so  great  as  may  at 
first  appear.  In  the  nature  of  things,  the  conservatives  usually 
control  social  institutions  and  are  consequently  in  position  to 
legalize  whatever  violent  methods  and  policies  may  be  to  their 
interest.  The  social  agencies — notably  the  police  power — may 
or  may  not  be  justly  used,  according  as  disinterested  and  dis¬ 
passionate  conservatives,  or  self-seeking  and  unscrupulous  vested 
interests  (whether  economic,  ecclesiastical,  or  racial),  are  in 
control. 

Where  vested  interests  are  in  control  they  can  finance  violence 
on  a  grand  scale.  And  often  it  does  not  make  much  difference 
whether  this  is  done  in  accordance  with  legal  conventions  or  not. 
Examples  enough  will  occur  to  any  informed  reader — the 
questionable  use  of  armed  forces  in  labor  disputes,  the  hiring 
of  professional  ‘ 4  detectives ’  ’  and  strike-breakers  (usually  a 


188 


CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

euphemism  for  thugs  and  gunmen),  the  forcible  jailing  or  depor¬ 
tation  of  labor  organizers  in  defiance  of  constitutional  rights, 
and  the  fomenting  of  disturbance  and  rebellion  in  foreign  coun¬ 
tries,  usually  the  weak  and  backward  ones.  All  these  things  are 
respectable,  right,  and  proper  when  done  by  those  with  sufficient 
economic  power,  but  when  the  same,  or  nearly  the  same,  things 
are  done  by  radicals,  no  terms  of  condemnation  are  too  strong. 

We  saw  above10  that  the  vested  interests,  standing  for  law 
and  order,  do  not  always  have  to  resort  to  actual  violence.  They 
may  use  threat  of  force  as  a  method  of  intimidation.  But  as 
the  world  should  have  learned  by  now,  this  is  a  game  two  can 
play  at.  Extreme  radicals  have  not  been  slow  to  learn  it. 
Against  the  power  and  threats  of  reactionism  they  have  matched 
terrorism,  through  ‘  ‘  propaganda  of  the  deed.  ’  ’*  11  Introduced 
into  theory  first  by  the  crazy  anarchist  Bakounin,  and  into 
practice  by  the  Russian  nihilists,  especially  by  that  “incarna¬ 
tion  of  hatred,  malice,  and  revenge”  the  young  revolutionist, 
Nechayeff,12  it  was  spread  by  the  anarchists  through  Europe  and 
into  America,  and  eventually  became,  under  such  names  as 
“direct  action”  and  “sabotage,”  the  official  doctrine,  as  to 
method,  of  the  syndicalists  and  their  American  prototype,  the 
I.  W.  W.  As  is  well  known,  the  argument  advanced  for  direct 
action,  propaganda  of  the  deed — in  short,  terrorism — was  and 
still  is  that  trade  unionists  and  political  socialists  not  only  have 
failed,  but  must  continue  to  fail,  to  accomplish  anything  by 
parliamentary,  political,  methods. 

To  attempt  to  trace  the  historico-psychologic  causes  for  the 
development  of  this  doctrine  would  take  us  far  beyond  the 
proper  confines  of  this  book.13  But  the  general  motivation  to 

10  Pages  84,  85. 

11  See  Hunter,  Violence  and  the  Labor  Movement ,  1914,  Index,  under 
“propaganda  of  the  deed”  and  “terrorism.” 

12  Hunter,  Chapter  1. 

13  The  reader  who  wishes  to  pursue  this  subject  will  consult  Hunter, 
Violence  and  the  Labor  Movement,  and  Parker,  The  Casual  Laborer  and 
Other  Essays ;  and  then  the  whole  literature  of  syndicalism.  The  fol¬ 
lowing  works  may  be  specifically  mentioned :  Laidler,  Socialism  in 
Thought  and  Action,  1920,  ch.  G ;  Levine,  Syndicalism  in  France ,  1913 ; 
Brissenden,  The  I.  W.  W. — a  Study  of  American  Syndicalism,  1919; 
Macdonald,  Syndicalism,  1912;  Tridon,  The  New  Unionism,  1913;  Rus¬ 
sell,  Proposed  Roads  to  Freedom,  1919,  ch.  3 ;  Revolutionary  Radicalism, 
Its  History,  Purpose  and  Tactics  (Report  of  the  Lusk  Committee  to  the 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


189 


direct  action  is  clear.  It  lay  in  ideo-motor  impatience  and  anger 
at  aspirations  and  programs  seemingly  checkmated  everywhere, 
and  in  the  resultant  conviction  (mingled  with  combat  instincts 
and  revenge  motives)  that  the  proletariat  had  but  one  effective 
method  left.  Appeal  and  argument  had  failed;  nothing  was 
left  but  action — force  without  stint. 

A  powerful  contributive  cause  lay  in  the  fact,  also,  that  the 
leaders  were  more  impatient*  more  revolutionary,  and  more 
ready — in  theory  at  least,  in  spite  of  their  bitter  personal 
quarrels — to  insist  upon  the  necessity  for  discipline  and  organ¬ 
ization,  than  were  the  masses  of  their  followers. 

A  candid  survey  of  history  will  show  a  very  long  series  of 
popular  uprisings  against  oppression  and  exploitation.  But 
these  revolts  have  been  spasmodic;  they  do  not  occur  until 
oppression  becomes  unbearable.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  masses 
of  humanity  have,  always  been  conservative — at  least  until  the 
exceedingly  unsettling  influence  of  the  Industrial  Revolution 
ushered  in  the  dynamic  nineteenth  century.  Uprisings  and 
revolutions,  from  slave  insurrections  in  Rome  and  revolts  of 
German  peasants  to  the  Paris  Commune  and  the  Bolshevist 
revolution  in  Russia,  have  in  the  main  been  indubitable  evidence 
of  tyranny  and  exploitation  so  gross  that  it  moved  to  concerted 
action  even  the  thick  intellects  and  the  slow  wills  of  the  naturally 
conservative  people. 

The  untutored  masses:  may  know  only  that  they  are  miserable ; 
they  may  be  unable  to  single  out  the  causes  of  their  misery; 
they  may  not  know  exactly  what  they  want  or  how  to  get  it  if 
they  did.  For  these  reasons,  and  also  because  of  a  certain 
inborn  or  acquired  individualism,  they  are  by  no  means  always 
reliable  and  persistent  in  their  attachment  and  loyalty  to 
particular  programs  of  reform  or  revolution. 

If  the  balked  aspirations  of  the  masses  could  be  co-ordinated, 
and  their  obstructed  energy  released  under  skillful  organization 
and'  leadership,  they  would  obviously  constitute  a  force  not 
lightly  to  be  held  in  contempt  or  trifled  with.  Whether  it  be 


New  York  State.  Senate,  1920),  Vols.  I  and  II.  This  Report,  whatever 
may  be  thought  of  the  animus  and  ethics  of  the  men  behind  it,  is  an 
invaluable  mine  of  documents  relating  to  revolutionary  theories  and 


programs.  See,  for  illustration,  the  “Left  Wing  Manifesto”  (Vol. 
710-738,  especially  pp.  730-730). 


I,  pp. 


190  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

a  fact  fraught  with  danger  or  with  hope,  it  remains  a  fact  that 
the  working  masses  constitute  the  great  majority  of  the  popula¬ 
tion  in  any  country,  and  accordingly  could  legally  and  consti¬ 
tutionally  carry  through  any  program  of  change,  however  dras¬ 
tic,  and  however  disastrous  or  beneficial,  provided  only  that  the 
minorities  would  abide  by  constitutional  law  and  order.  The 
industrial  workers  of  America,  if  joined  by  the  farmers,  could, 
if  they  so  desired  and  were  solidly  organized,  amend  the  Consti¬ 
tution  or  abolish  it  and  adopt  another  and  very  different  one. 
But  there  is  not  the  slightest  immediate  likelihood  of  anything 
of  the  kind.  For  there  is  far  less  class  consciousness  and  class 
solidarity  among  the  workers  than  there  is  among  the  ruling 
propertied  classes.  The  workers  are  for  that  reason  less  amen¬ 
able  to  discipline  in  a  common  cause  than  are  the  capitalistic 
vested  interests.  By  the  very  reason  of  their  many  repressions 
and  obstructions,  as  well  as  of  their  age-long  training  in  subser¬ 
viency  to  the  power  and  prestige  of  superior  classes,  they  are 
in  fact  hard  to  organize  and  still  harder  to  keep  organized. 

In  the  absence  of  the  essential  organization  and  discipline, 
their  desire-reinforcement  is  likely  to  be  relatively  futile.  In 
spite,  however,  of  the  survival  of  a  subservient  spirit  and  of  a 
safety-first  attitude  lasting  over  from  earlier  periods  less 
touched  than  the  present  by  democratic  aspiration,  few  will 
deny  that  there  is  a  vast  reserve  of  energy  dammed  up  in  the 
obstructed  and  repressed  desires  of  the  masses.  It  is  equally 
plain  that  this  energy  is  kept  from  effectiveness  largely  by  the 
futile  propensity  to  personification,  personal  blame,  and  point¬ 
less  objurgation,  which  serve  as  partial,  momentary,  and  some¬ 
what  rhythmic  releases  of  anger,  and  scatter,  rather  than  focus, 
the  energies  of  the  obstructed  interests. 

Now  it  is  precisely  to  concentrate  these  energies  and  to  secure 
solidarity  of  organization  that  direct  action,  propaganda  of  the 
deed,  and  the  less  violent  but  no  less  effective  measure  of  the 
general  strike  are  advocated.  The  conservative  interests  have 
been  altogether  too  successful,  from  the  standpoint  of  the 
economic  radical,  in  their  policy  of  dividing  and  thereby  hold¬ 
ing  in  check  the  forces  of  radicalism.  Hence  the  direct  action 
policy  is  the  result  both  of  the  inability  and  failure  to  organize 
the  masses  for  unified  political  co-operation — failure  perhaps 
due  in  part  to  the  superior  political  capacity  of  the  conserva- 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


191 


tives, — and  of  the  violent  and  sometimes  ruthless  methods 
resorted  to  by  the  vested  interests.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  had 
the  ruling  powers  not  resorted  to  violence  and  had  they  not 
played  their  political  cards  so  adroitly  as  to  convince  many 
radicals  that  the  masses  had  no  chance  in  that  game,  “  propa¬ 
ganda  of  the  deed”  would  have  got  a  scanty  number  of 
adherents. 

Before  we  leave  this  subject  it  should  be  noted  that  propa¬ 
ganda  of  the  deed  was  a  policy  not  invented  by  Bakounin.  It 
has  been  the  method  of  militarism  from  time  immemorable,  of 
imperialism  and  class  rule  from  the  beginnings  of  civilization. 
Not  to  go  back  to  Egytian  dynasties,  or  the  tender  policies  of 
Hebrew  Kings  and  Judges,  to  the  glories  of  Rome,  or  even  to 
the  ministrations  of  feudal  overlords  and  gentlemen  of  the 
manor,  it  has  been  a  part  of  the  conventional  methods  of  the 
Germans  in  East  Africa,  the  Dutch  in  Java,  the  French  in 
Morocco,  the  English  in  divers  places,  and  the  Japanese  in 
China  and  Siberia ;  and  the  Americans  have  not  entirely  escaped 
some  taint  of  its  use.  We  have  had  it  with  us  very  recently — 
not  always  in  radical  circles — in  West  Virginia,  in  Seattle,  in 
Arizona,  in  Pittsburgh,  in  Haiti,  and  in  Ku  Kluxism  every¬ 
where.  It  is  the  primal  eldest  curse  of  man,  the  mark  of  Cain 
set  upon  us. 

There  is  no  sharp  dividing  line  between  violence  and  intimida¬ 
tion,  or  between  intimidation  and  peaceful  economic  pressure. 
Nor  is  there  a  distinction  of  kind  between  the  use  of  these 
devices  by  conservative  labor  groups  and  by  radicals.  The 
effectiveness  of  a  strike  or  any  other  device  to  compel  favorable 
action,  depends,  though  by  no  means  wholly,  upon  the  amount 
of  pressure  it  brings  to  bear  upon  the  employer.  On  the  pres¬ 
sure  agencies — strikes,  picketing,  boycotts,  unfair  lists,  etc. — 
we  need  not  dwell,  further  than  to  note  that  they  may  be  peace¬ 
ful  or  violent.  They  do  not  directly  concern  the  present  inquiry, 
because  they  are  not  exclusively  or  essentially  radical  methods. 

Even  so,  however,  the  conservative  labor  movement  itself  is 
continually  confronted  with  new  limitations  upon  the  use  of 
methods  upon  which  it  has  relied  ever  since  the  modern  organi¬ 
zation  of  labor  began.  This  is  indication  that  trade  unionism — 
the  conservative  wing  of  labor — is  in  many  respects  not  much 
better  a  match,  politically,  for  the  capitalistic  employing  inter- 


192  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

ests  than  are  the  radicals.  Since  the  war,  certainly,  there  has 
been  a  series  of  court  decisions  of  no  little  significance,  not  only 
to  labor  itself,  but  to  the  student  of  methods  of  economic  pres¬ 
sure  ;  for  there  can  be  no  gainsaying  of  the  fact  that  the  present 
judicial  tendency  in  this  country  is  greatly  to  limit,  if  not 
destroy,  labor’s  power  of  action  through  organization  and 
collective  bargaining. 

It  is  well  to  realize  that  the  narrower  the  legal  limits  within 
which  labor  (whether  such  relatively  conservative  organizations 
as  the  American  Federation  of  Labor,  or  in  groups  of  more 
radical  tendency)  can  bring  to  bear  economic  pressure  to  resist 
that  of  the  capitalistic  vested  interests,  the  more  likely  it  is  to 
go  over  bodily  to  the  advocates  of  the  doctrine  of  direct  action. 
Herein  lies  an  important,  though  somewhat  remote,  limitation 
on  the  power  of  the  vested  interests  to  add  legal  intimidation 
to  economic.  Short  of  this  danger  of  driving  conservative 
unionism  into  the  arms  of  syndicalism,  the  reactionary  and 
conservative  interests,  as  long  as  they  remain  in  control  of 
institutions  and  office,  are  in  possession  of  a  thousand  and  one 
intimidation  devices  not  available  to  radicals. 

Theoretically  a  general  strike  could  take  place  without  violence, 
although  should  the  workers  ever  see  fit  to  institute  one,  and  be 
organized  with  sufficient  solidarity  to  make  it  effective,  it  would 
be  the  most  powerful  weapon  of  economic  intimidation  ever  put 
into  their  hands.  Practically,  as  things  stand  in  the  Western 
World,  a  proposal  to  inaugurate  a  general  strike  is  a  proposal 
to  meet  violence  with  violence  if  necessary.  Assuming  that  the 
striking  workers  could  hold  in  check  their  own  impulse  to  com¬ 
bat,  and  at  the  start  refrained  from  all  violent  acts,  it  is  very 
likely  that  ways  would  be  found  of  forcing  them  into  violence. 
The  whole  familiar  round  of  charge  and  countercharge,  display 
of  police  power,  calling  out  of  the  military  forces,  serving  of 
blanket  injunctions,  and  raising  of  clamor  would  probably  be 
repeated,  and  perhaps  would  result  in  emergency  statutes  mak¬ 
ing  it  a  crime  for  two  or  more  employees  to  agree  to  stop  work 
together.  Cognizance  of  what  took  place  in  the  coal  strike  of 
1919,  what  was  threatened  in  the  impending  railroad  strike  of 
1921,  and  did  take  place  in  that  of  1922,  suggests  the  question 
whether  the  vested  interests  and  the  government  would  permit 
a  peaceful  general  strike.  The  motive  back  of  such  governmen- 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  193 

tal  policies  is  not  in  question ;  no  one  could  for  a  moment  doubt 
that  it  is  for  the  protection  of  the  public. 

A  peaceful  general  strike,  were  it  possible,  would  be  a  type 
of  passive  resistance.  Of  this  method  of  attaining  ends  the 
Western  World  offers  few  if  any  illustrations.  But  the  Orient 
offers  a  magnificent  example  of  what  passive  resistance  (mean¬ 
ing  by  the  term,  absence  of  violence)  can  do — the  Chinese  stu¬ 
dents’  strike  of  1919,  and  the  ensuing  Chinese  boycott  of 
Japanese  goods.14 

Closely  related  to  legal  intimidation  is  political  manipulation. 
In  politics  of  the  “practical”  kind,  it  is  possible  that  European 
radicals  have  attained  a  degree  of  technique  rivaling  that  of  the 
various  conservative  parties,  though  the  post-bellum  history  of 
the  British  Labor  Party  (in  point  of  policy  and  accomplish¬ 
ment)  may  throw  some  doubt  upon  this  opinion.  In  America, 
however,  radicals  have  not  exhibited  distinction  in  this  interest¬ 
ing  game.  This  is  due,  perhaps,  to  the  fact  that  America  is, 
in  general,  more  conservative  than  Europe.  Radicals  constitute 
a  small  minority — minorities  rather — and  these  minorities  have 
shown  a  conspicuous  lack  of  ability  to  get  together.15  This  in 
turn  is  due  to  the  traditional  and  ingrained  individualism  of 
the  American  people,  plus  the  disinclination  of  any  radical 
group  to  accept  compromise. 

On  the  whole  it  is  probable  that  radicals  are  too  conscientious 
idealists  to  make  good  use  of  the  methods  commonly  employed, 
and  regarded  as  matter-of-fact,  by  the  conservatives,  respectable 
and  otherwise.  Or  at  least  a  new  type  of  practical  radicalism, 
foreshadowed  perhaps  in  Wisconsin  and  North  Dakota,  will 
have  to  develop.  As  matters  stand,  radicals  are  no  match  for 
the  conservatives  in  political  wisdom  or  experience. 

The  outstanding,  traditional  policy  of  radical  parties  in  this 
country  and  the  Continent,  in  contrast  to  England,  has  been  the 
attempt  to  maintain  the  most  stringent  party  discipline.  No 

14  Another  movement  of  the  same  kind  and  one  which  may  eventually 
result  in  still  more  revolutionary  consequences  is  the  non-resistance, 
non-intercourse  Indian  nationalist  movement  led  by  Ghandi.  There  is 
ample  evidence,  however,  that  an  intellectual  idealist  like  Ghandi  cannot 
hold  the  masses  to  non-violent!  methods.  See,  for  instance,  Sir  Verner 
Lovett,  A  History  of  the  Indian  Nationalist  Movement,  1920,  clis.  G,  7. 

15 Witness  the  dismal  failure  of  the  attempt,  headed  by  the  Committee 
of  Forty-eight,  in  the  presidential  campaign  of  1920. 


194  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

one  has  been  considered  a  party  member  or  allowed  to  have  a 
voice  in  party  policy  who  would  not  formally  subscribe  to  a 
hard  and  fast  Credo.  So  far  as  the  socialists  are  concerned 
this  has  been  the  expression,  in  the  main,  of  the  heritage  of  an 
uncompromising  Marxism  imported  from  Germany  during  the 
trying  years  of  the  early  struggles  of  German  Social  Democracy 
to  obtain  a  consistent  party  organization. 

This  lack  of  elasticity  and  adaptability  was  thought  to  be 
essential  to  secure  and  maintain  solidarity  of  spirit  and  team¬ 
work  in  action.  But  with  the  increase  in  the  number  of  people 
socialistically  inclined,  and  the  demand  for  practical  as  well  as 
academic  programs,  it  helped  to  produce  the  thing  it  was 
designed  to  prevent — split  and  re-split  in  the  radical  wing. 
The  socialists  were  agreed  only  in  their  opposition  to  capi¬ 
talism,  and  in  a  general  way,  in  their  ultimate  ideals  (an 
agreement  now  shattered  by  the  upstarting  of  syndicalism  and 
guild  socialism).  With  the  appearance  of  revisionism  and 
reformism  in  France  and  Germany,  all  probability  of  early 
agreement  on  methods  of  practical  political  procedure  was  at 
an  end. 

In  espionage  the  radicals  are  at  a  hopeless  disadvantage.  The 
vested  interests  can  place  their  spies  in  the  inmost  councils  of 
every  radical  movement  and  every  labor  organization.  They 
have  the  money,  and  can  get  the  men  of  moral  calibre  suited 
to  the  office.  The  radicals,  however,  can  scarcely  hope  soon  to 
place  any  considerable  number  of  hirelings  on  the  directing 
boards  of  the  steel  corporations  or  the  great  banking  houses. 
Whether  the  vested  interests  employ  espionage  widely  is  another 
question.  They  can,  if  they  want  to,  and  the  results  they 
momentarily  reap  are  not  confined  to  the  inside  information 
obtained;  they  include  a  not  inconsiderable  injury  to  radical 
morale.  The  long  run  results  are  not  so  certain. 

Again,  in  the  adroit  use  of  seductive  prestige  the  radicals 
can  hardly  hope  to  compete.  Superior  inducements  of  money 
income  and  social  position  are  continually  causing  defection 
from  radical  ranks  or  preventing  promising  individuals  from 
following  the  bent  of  their  less  materialistic  impulses  and  join¬ 
ing  the  radical  movement.  The  only  seduction  proper  to  radi¬ 
calism  is  its  appeal  to  idealistic  morals,  and  its  promise  of 
distinction  through  difference — an  attraction  not  without  influ- 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  195 

ence  upon  certain  types  of  young  intellectuals  and  people  of 
wealth  grown  tired  of  monotonous  respectability.16 

Propaganda  and  “education  of  public  opinion”  must,  with 
few  exceptions,  be  either  oral  or  written.  It  goes  without  say¬ 
ing  that  radicalism  generally  makes  all  the  use  it  can  of  agita¬ 
tion,  oral  propaganda,  and  published  material,  from  penny 
pamphlets  to  ponderous  books.  In  this  it  is  not  essentially 
different  from  conservatism.  The  only  reason  we  do  not  realize 
that  conservative  propaganda  or  “education”  is  influencing  us 
all  the  time  is  because  conservatism  is  the  medium  in  which  we 
live.  It  is  because  the  propaganda  of  radicalism  is  new  and 
different,  as  well  as  dangerous,  that  it  attracts  so  much  atten¬ 
tion — largely  at  second  hand.  As  the  arena  of  oral  propaganda, 
the  radicals  have  the  soap  box;  their  own  indoor  meetings — 
where  allowed — the  right  to  speak  in  a  few  open  forums;  the 
class  rooms  of  the  socialist  schools  and  certain  types  of  “work¬ 
ers’  colleges”;  possibly  some  social  settlement  clubs  and  classes, 
here  and  there;  evanescently,  a  propagandists  teacher  in  the 
public  schools  and  universities ;  and  opportunity  provided  for 
scattering  representatives  in  elective  office  to  speak  in  legislative 
halls. 

In  printed  propaganda  they  are  somewhat  more  favorably 
situated,  though  still  at  a  disadvantage.  There  is  a  large  radical 
press,  if  judged  by  the  number  of  radical  periodicals.  Their 
total  circulation,  while  large  in  absolute  figures,  is  small  if 
compared  to  the  aggregate  circulation  of  non-radical  periodi¬ 
cals.  Half  a  dozen  great  dailies  like  the  Chicago  Tribune,  the 
New  York  Times,  the  Los  Angeles  Times  and  the  San  Francisco 
Chronicle,  probably  have  a  circulation  comparable  to  that  of 
all  the  radical  papers  put  together.  As  the  chief  center  of 
economic  radicalism  in  this  country  is  New  York  City,  which 
is  also  the  great  publishing  center  of  the  country,  it  is  natural 
to  find  a  large  number  of  radical  publications  printed  there.17 


18  See  Professor  Shapiro’s  article,  “The  Revolutionary  Intellectual,” 
Atlantic  Monthly ,  June,  1920,  pp.  820-830. 

17  The  Lusk  Committee  Report  gives  a  table  of  radical  papers  published 
In  New  York  City  or  circulated  there,  the  total  circulation  of  which  is 
put  at  1,072,700.  This  includes  everything  from  dailies  to  monthlies, 
publications  in  foreign  languages  as  well  as  in  English ;  and  a  group  of 
liberal  periodicals  like  the  Nation,  New  Republic,  Freeman,  and  Survey, 
with  a  total  circulation  put  at  108,100.  By  adding  the  total  circulation 


196  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

There  are,  as  noted  above,  a  few  radical  publishing  houses. 
Some  of  these,  co-operative  or  otherwise,  specialize  in  cheap 
reprints  of  radical  classics  and  in  pamphlet  material;  others, 
which  have  recognized  standing  in  the  publishing  world,  put 
out  an  increasing  number  of  scholarly  books  not  to  be  classed 
as  propaganda. 

Finally,  with  regard  to  news,  the  labor  movement  has  founded 
the  Federated  Press,  with  its  daily  service  to  labor  papers,  and 
its  weekly  Bulletin. 

Radicalism  makes  more  use  of  certain  forms  of  publicity,  like 
parades  and  “demonstrations/’  than  does  conservatism.  The 
“militant”  suffragists  made  extremely  effective  use  of  parades 
and  later  of  spectacular  picketing  at  the  White  House  and  the 
Capitol.  Their  effectiveness,  however,  was  greatly  enhanced 
by  the  stupid  way  in  which  the  situation  was  handled  by  the 
police  and  the  authorities  higher  up.  The  rough  handling  of 
the  pickets  by  the  mobs,  the  arrests  on  trumped-up  charges, 
often  on  none  at  all,  and  the  ensuing  illegal  jail  sentences 
imposed  upon  the  women,  not  a  few  of  whom  were  socially 
prominent,  only  served  to  give  suffrage  a  publicity  it  would  not 
otherwise  have  had,  and  undoubtedly  forced  the  hand  first  of 
the  President  and  then  of  Congress.18 

The  National  Woman’s  Party,  however,  had  one  advantage 
which  laboring  class  radicalism  lacks.  While  the  National 
Woman’s  Party  succeeded  in  raising  an  astonishingly  large 
amount  of  money  in  small  contributions  from  all  over  the 
country,  it  was  greatly  aided,  and  tided  over  tight  places,  by 
the  large  gifts  of  a  few  wealthy  and  influential  individuals. 

of  the  periodicals  published  in  New  York  City  and  the  “circulation  in 
New  York  City”  of  those  published  elsewhere,  the  Report  leaves  the 
reader  to  infer  an  enormous  number  of  readers  of  radical  periodicals  in 
the  Metropolis.  See  Yol.  II,  pp.  2004-2006. 

18  See  Doris  Stevens,  Jailed  for  Freedom,  1920;  Inez  Haynes  Irwin, 
The  Story  of  the  Woman’s  Party,  1921.  Probably  no  finer  exhibition 
of  leadership  and  of  political  insight  could  be  found,  than  that  of  Alice 
Paul’s  management  of  the  suffrage  campaign.  The  history  of  the  passage 
of  the  Nineteenth  Amendment  is  a  brilliant  exemplification  of  what 
the  leadership  of  a  determined  and  able  minority  can  do,  especially  when, 
as  in  this  case,  there  develops  a  growing  general  sentiment  that  it  has 
right  on  its  side,  and  it  can  therefore  rely  not  only  on  political  pressure 
but  on  the  shifting  of  public  opinion  in  its  favor,  which  eventually  brings 
the  political  pressure  to  bear. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


197 


Only  when  solidly  organized,  with  very  large  numbers  of 
paying  members,  can  labor  organizations  and  radical  movements 
escape  in  a  measure  the  drawbacks  of  financial  limitations.  The 
expenses  of  propaganda  and  publicity  are  heavy.  While  there 
is  a  large  amount  of  masked  vested-interest  propaganda  in  the 
newspapers  and  magazines,  very  little  from  the  radical  groups 
appears.  They  are  often  not  even  able  to  secure  a  presentation 
of  their  case  in  paid  advertisements.  Hence  they  must  rely  for 
publicity  mainly  upon  their  own  periodicals  and  the  cheap 
pamphlet  literature  so  characteristic  of  radical  movements. 
Even  in  this  they  are  at  a  disadvantage,  for  they  cannot  stand 
the  expense  at  the  rate  which  the  great  industrial  interests  can 
and  do  incur. 

The  conservative  interests — packers,  banking  houses,  railway 
executives,  employers  ’  associations,  public  utility  companies, 
etc. — are  lavish  in  their  use  of  publicity  through  letters  and 
pamphlets,  often  very  attractively  got  up.  Most  of  this  litera¬ 
ture  is  free — to  be  had  for  the  asking,  and  often  without  it. 
It  gets  into  the  public  libraries  and  into  the  loan,  or  “  package,  ” 
libraries  sent  out  by  the  extension  departments  of  universities ; 
it  is  used  in  class  rooms  without  offsetting  material,  and  its 
existence  is  a  matter  of  bibliographical  record  and  distribution 
in  the  Bulletins  of  the  Public  Affairs  Information  Service,  for 
which  most  libraries  of  any  size  subscribe,  and  in  which  all 
“free”  items  are  marked  with  a  star.  These  Bulletins  cite 
comparatively  little  radical  literature,  because  it  does  not  come 
so  generally  to  their  attention,  and  star  still  less,  because  the 
radical  organizations  cannot  financially  afford  to  scatter  it 
broadcast  freely. 

While  it  cannot  be  called  a  ‘  ‘  method  ’  ’  of  radicalism,  doubtless 
some  of  the  most  effective  publicity  radicalism  gets,  and  often 
with  surprisingly  favorable  results,  comes  from  its  opponents. 
Persecution  is  an  effective  mode  not  only  of  advertising  your 
opponent’s  cause,  but  advertising  it  at  your  own  expense.  Allu¬ 
sion  was  made  above  to  the  publicity  thus  given  the  suffrage 
campaign.  The  expulsion  of  the  socialist  members  from  the 
New  York  State  Legislature,  and  the  breaking  up  of  the  mass 
meeting  of  the  National  Birth  Control  Conference,  by  the  New 
York  City  police,  led  by  the  secretary  of  the  Catholic  bishop 


198  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

(November,  1921)  are  striking  recent  examples.  Through  such 
forceful  opposition  the  attention  of  thousands  of  people  is 
drawn  to  an  issue  or  movement,  of  which  they  would  otherwise 
be  but  dimly  aware,  and  sympathy  is  aroused  where  there  would 
otherwise  be  indifference  or  antipathy. 

Here,  too,  should  be  mentioned  the  frequent  case  in  which 
radical,  or  even  merely  liberal,  speakers,  are  refused  the  oppor¬ 
tunity  to  speak  in  schools,  colleges,  and  churches.19  Professor 
John  Dewey  tells  us  that  upon  his  arrival  in  Japan  to  give  a 
series  of  university  lectures  he  was  tactfully  requested  not  to 
talk  about  political  or  social  questions,  but  to  confine  himself 
to  abstract  philosophy.  When  he  adds  that  a  year  before  it 
was  dangerous  to  utter  the  word  “democracy”  in  Japan,  we 
know  that  the  Japanese  are  still  a  backward  people.  We  can 
understand  that  in  the  case  of  the  Japanese. 

More  recently,  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  of  the  University  of  Oklahoma 
summarily  refused  to  allow  the  European  representatives  of  the 
Youth  Movement  to  speak  in  its  hall.  Permission  had  been 
granted  but  was  withdrawn  when  the  rumor  arrived  that  the 
young  men  were  “reds.” 

Finally  we  have  to  record  the  well-recognized  fact  that  popu¬ 
lar  radicalism,  in  its  propaganda  and  agitation,  has  never  hesi¬ 
tated  to  meet  the  claptrap  sentiment,  the  chicane,  the  shibbo¬ 
leths,  and  slogans  of  vested-interest  conservatism  with  its  own 
appeal  to  passion  and  prejudice,  and  a  numerous  species  of 
radical  cant  and  catch  phrases.  Most  of  the  popular,  and  much 
of  the  academic  and  so-called  scientific,  literature  of  socialism, 
for  instance,  is  liberally  besprinkled  with  these  stock  terms, 
phrases,  and  sentiments.  Their  meaning  or  foundations  the 
average  radical  reader  no  more  stops  to  analyze  or  criticize  than 
the  average  conservative  questions  the  meaning  and  finality  of 
the  “eternal  verities”  and  “fundamental  principles”  handed 
out  to  him  in  his  favorite  kind  of  literature. 

But  most  of  all  it  is  the  appeal  to  passion;  the  spirit  of 

19  University  authorities,  for  instance,  are  sometimes  placed  in  a  very 
trying  situation  between  the  demands  of  reactionaries  and  radicals. 
When  the  President,  and  on  appeal  of  students  against  his  decision, 
the  Regents  of  the  University  of  Wisconsin  recently  refused  the  oppor¬ 
tunity  for  the  students’  open  forum  to  hear  Oswald  Garrison  Villard, 
Kate  O’Hare,  and  Scott  Nearing,  the  fact  was  published  throughout  the 
country. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


199 


personal  blame  and  its  attendant  name-calling  and  revilings; 
the  inability  to  see  anything  good  in  conservative  and  especially 
in  propertied  persons;  and  the  one-sided  absence  of  any  state¬ 
ment  of  the  case  of  conservatism,  and  especially  of  capitalism, 
which  characterize  radical  talk  and  the  popular  radical  papers. 
The  headlines  of  some  of  the  labor  papers  (not,  however,  the 
general  run  of  trade  union  magazines)  are  as  inflammatory  as 
the  worst  of  the  capitalistic  press.  And  certain  radical  papers 
do  not  hesitate  to  distort  facts,  and  grossly  misrepresent  condi¬ 
tions.  Most  propagandists  cartoons  are  vicious  in  their  appeal 
to  prejudice,  and  those  in  radical  publications  are  no  exception. 
The  radical  press,  like  yellow  journalism,  has  a  decided  penchant 
for  sensationalism.  It  is  said  that  the  Federated  Press  cannot 
place  its  news  items  and  write-ups  with  many  labor  papers 
unless  they  are  written  in  a  somewhat  lurid  style.  Finally,  that 
there  is  some — the  amount,  though,  is  exaggerated — truth  in 
the  conservative  belief  that  many  labor  leaders  and  agitators 
are  corrupt,  given  to  double-dealing  and  a  self-aggrandizement, 
and  that  their  liberalism  or  radicalism  is  mere  pose  and  chicane 
is  only  too  well  attested  by  known  facts — as  revealed,  for 
instance,  in  the  Lockwood  investigation  where  collusion  was 
shown  between  building  contractors  and  the  officials  of  certain 
building  trades  in  New  York  City.20 

When  these  lower  strata  of  human  character  and  conduct  are 
tapped,  it  is  evident  that  there  is  little  to  choose  between  the 
baser  methods  of  vested-interest  conservatism  and  dishonest 
radicalism. 

Escape  from  the  slough  of  passion,  prejudice,  and  angry 
combat  does  not  lie  in  any  method  likely  to  be  proposed  or 
adopted  by  ideo-motor  temperaments.  For  that  reason  it  is 
high  time  we  turned  our  attention  to  the  nature  and  social 
significance  of  scientific  method  and  the  scientific  attitude. 

20  See  the  Intermediate  Report  of  the  Joint  Legislative  Committee  on 
Housing ,  New  York  State  Legislative  document  No.  GO,  1922.  It  would 
be  unfair,  however,  to  charge  the  conditions  revealed  by  this  report  to 
radicalism. 


CHAPTER  IX 


SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  AND  SCIENTIFIC  ATTITUDE 

1.  The  Relation  of  Scientific  Method  to  Interest  Conflicts 

Fundamentally,  conservatives  and  radicals  are  in  opposi¬ 
tion  because  their  interests  conflict.  In  the  absence  of 
interest  conflict  there  might  remain  some  slight  difference 
in  intellectual  attitudes  and  convictions,  as  two  groups  might 
differ  as  to  the  reality  of  certain  alleged  facts  or  as  to  the 
significance  of  facts  unanimously  recognized.  Difference  in 
intellectual  emphasis,  divergence  of  foci  of  attention,  and  varia¬ 
tions  in  logical  method  might  still  occasion  some  misunderstand¬ 
ing  and  friction,  but  in  the  absence  of  conflicts  of  interests  and 
sentiments  these  differences  would  be  relatively  insignificant. 

Conservative  and  radical  are  unable  to  agree  on  facts,  not 
only  because  of  the  great  difficulty  of  ascertaining  and  putting 
in  orderly  array  all  the  facts  pertinent  to  a  complex  issue,  but 
to  very  great  extent  because  they  do  not  want  to  agree.  Neither 
will  admit  that  he  sees  the  facts  as  the  other  sees  them,  because 
his  interests  are  the  glass  through  which  he  looks.  Each  sees 
the  facts  distorted  by  the  refractive  peculiarities  of  his  own 
glass.  And  if  he  views  the  facts  myopically  or  astigmatically 
through  subjective  distortions,  still  more  is  he  likely  to  draw 
twisted  interpretations  and  inferences.  It  is  but  a  short  step 
from  emotional  astigmatism  to  intellectual  chicane  and  shifty 
logic.  Even  with  complete  honesty  in  their  conscious  rational 
processes,  however,  the  two  may  never  come  to  a  common  meet¬ 
ing  ground  of  agreement,  or  even  of  profitable  discussion, 
because  of  intense  sentimental  opposition. 

Here  we  must  recall  that  the  difference  in  the  general  motiva¬ 
tion  of  conservatism  and  of  radicalism  is  derived  from  the 
different  relation  in  which  conservative  and  radical  respectively 
stand  to  the  existing  status  quo.  Generally  speaking,  those  rela¬ 
tions  are  such  that  the  conservative  is  fairly  comfortable  and 

200 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


201 


satisfied,  while  the  radical  is  uncomfortable,  dissatisfied,  and 
driven  to  more  or  less  consistent  reinforcement  of  balked  desires 
and  obstructed  interests.  The  conservative  thinks  that  his 
interests  are  fairly  well  subserved  by  things-pretty-much-as- 
they-are ;  the  radical  knows  that  his  are  not.  This  conflict 
exists  not  only  in  the  economic  interests,  where  it  is  at  present, 
if  not  always,  most  widespread  and  bitterly  fought,  but  in  all 
the  fields  of  human  interest.  It  is  a  conflict  not  only  of  specific 
desires  and  interests,  but  of  sentiments,  and  of  general  atti¬ 
tudes.1  In  the  economic  field  the  conservative-radical  conflict 
is,  as  we  have  seen,  largely  one  between  vested  interests  and  the 
exploited  and  excluded.  Where  we  are  able  to  speak  of  ‘  ‘  disin¬ 
terested”  conservatism  the  conflict  is  one  in  which  unbroken 
habit  and  attachment  are  on  their  defense  against  the  innova¬ 
tive  projects  of  elements  whose  sentiments  and  loyalties  are  in 
one  way  or  another  detached  from  the  conventional  norms  and 
institutions.  To  a  certain  extent  the  conflict  may  rise  above 
the  level  of  mere  sentimental  attachment  and  detachment  and 
be  carried  out  on  a  semi-rational  plane.  To  this  extent  it 
becomes  a  conflict  of  rational  estimates  as  to  the  human  values 
or  social  utilities  derivable  from  existing  institutions  and 
processes,  in  relation  to  human  ends — on  which  there  may  be 
agreement,  but  usually  is  not. 

It  is  well  at  this  point  to  recall  from  our  introductory  chapter 
certain  concepts  and  distinctions.  An  attitude  (like  conserva¬ 
tism  or  radicalism,  or  the  scientific  attitude)  is  a  type  of 
sentiment,  or  sentiment-complex,  reaction — a  generalized  be¬ 
havior-pattern.  The  individual  characterized  by  a  given  atti¬ 
tude  will  meet  and  evaluate  a  given  situation  in  a  way  typical 
to  the  attitude  and  predictable  from  it.  Sentiments  are  emo¬ 
tional  complexes  or  states  in  the  presence  of  specific  objects  or 
situations,  to  which  a  valuation  (an  estimate  of  significance  or 
importance)  is  attached,  instinctively,  habitually,  intuitively,  or 
even  through  rational  processes.  This  value  or  significance  is 
always  relative,  not  only  to  the  situation,  but  to  the  situation 

1This  conflict  or  “rivalry”  is  discussed  at  length  and  in  detail,  and 
with  great  wealth  of  illustration,  in  J.  M.  Williams,  Principles  of  Social 
Psychology,  as  Developed  in  a  Study  of  Economic  and  Social  Conflict, 
1922,  a  book  which  did  not  come  to  hand  until  after  the  present  chapter 
was  written. 


202  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

regarded  (not  necessarily  consciously )  as  a  means  to  an  end — 
that  is,  with  reference  to  its  bearing  on  interests.  The  process 
of  valuation  may  be  entirely  sentimental — a  matter  of  imme¬ 
diate  feeling — or  it  may  be  rational,  intellectively  mediated.  In 
the  later  case  it  may  or  may  not  be  scientific. 

Omitting  those  relatively  rare  cases  in  which  the  situation 
is  scientifically,  objectively,  and  disinterestedly  evaluated,  the 
conflicts  of  valuation,  being  in  the  main  reducible  to  conflicts 
of  sentiment,  are  nearly  always  accompanied  by  the  impulse  to 
personal  praise  and  blame.  These  in  turn  intensify  the  conflict. 
Sentimental  valuations  thus  tend  to  produce  groupings  and 
group  conflicts.  For  conflicts  of  this  type  there  are  three  levels 
of  solution.  In  the  absence  of  tolerance  the  outcome  will  be 
determined  by  superior  force.  Where  sufficient  tolerance  is 
present  to  give  opportunity  for  negotiation,  and  where  each 
group  has  a  healthy  fear  of  the  other,  the  outcome  may  be  an 
opportunistic  compromise — each  group  giving  in  just  as  much 
as  it  has  to  and  no  more.  Thus  far  sentiments  are  the  basis  of 
the  solution.  The  third  level  is  that  of  objective  analysis  of 
the  facts  and  issues  involved.  This  method  may  not  be  able  to 
eliminate  the  fundamental  interest  conflict,  but,  if  sufficient 
opportunity  is  given,  it  can  eliminate,  or  at  least  surmount, 
the  personalistic  blame  reactions  resultant  upon  sentimental 
approaches  to  a  problem.  Finally,  objective  scientific  analysis 
of  the  issue  may  prepare  the  way  for  constructive  effort — 
“ creative  intelligence.’ ’ 

Given  only  open-mindedness  and  sound  methods  of  observa¬ 
tion  and  logic,  any  purely  intellectual  conflict,  other  than 
speculations  based  on  mutually  incompatible  metaphysical  pos¬ 
tulates,  can  be  solved  by  the  accumulation  of  factual  evidence. 
A  conflict  of  interests,  on  the  other  hand,  can  be  solved,  if  at 
all,  only  by  the  opponents  coming  to  agreement  on  some  common 
ethical  ground,  that  is,  by  such  re-definition  of  their  interests 
and  modification  of  their  attitudes  as  will  lead  them  to  judge 
the  facts  of  the  situation  by  reference  to  some  higher  standard 
of  ethical  valuation. 

Briefly,  and  excluding  from  consideration  at  this  point  the 
problem  of  deciding  between  ends,  social  issues,  if  they  are  to 
be  settled  fairly  and  as  presumably  rational  beings  should  settle 
them,  are  not  to  be  settled  by  brute  force,  dogmatic  appeal  to 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


203 


authority  and  precedent;  or  trickery,  emotional  frumpery,  and 
chicane;  but  by  the  arbitrament  of  fact.  They  can  be  solved 
only  through  the  objective,  scientific  method  of  investigation 
and  decision.  The  leading  social  function  of  scientific  method 
is  thus  to  delimit  emotional  or  interest  conflict  to  the  sphere  of 
ends  or  purposes,  and  to  diminish,  so  far  as  humanly  possible, 
the  role  played  by  subjective  illusion  and  emotional  astigmatism 
in  the  ordering  of  human  affairs.  In  a  word,  the  moral  function 
of  the  scientific  method  is  to  rationalize  interest  conflicts. 

That  is  why  it  is  necessary  to  give  consideration  to  the  scien¬ 
tific  method  and  attitude  in  these  chapters.  Employment  of 
the  scientific  method  is  necessary  for  the  discovery  of  the  es¬ 
sential  factual  data  upon  which  the  orderly  solution  of  social 
issues  must  be  based.  The  scientific  attitude  or  spirit  is  neces¬ 
sary  as  a  check,  both  upon  over-sentimental,  conservative 
attachment  and  upon  too  headlong  radical  reinforcement. 

2.  The  General  Features  of  Scientific  Method 

While  there  are  analogies  to  scientific  method  in  the  mental 
activity  of  every  normal  individual,  no  one  can  use  this 
method  consistently,  who  has  not  acquired  a  consistent  scien¬ 
tific  attitude.  Given  the  attitude  the  corresponding  method 
will  follow.  In  practice  it  requires  a  long  educational  disci¬ 
pline,  with  emphasis  upon  the  sciences,  to  secure  the  scientific 
attitude  in  an  individual — long  not  because  of  any  inherent 
difficulty  or  complexity  in  the  scientific  method  itself,  since  in 
its  fundamentals  it  is  comparatively  simple,  but  because  it  takes 
time  to  dislodge  the  sentimental,  subjective,  and  prejudicial 
attitudes  fixed  in  boys  and  girls  by  the  social  controls  which 
are  constantly  bearing  upon  them.2  Few  persons  ever  acquire 
even  a  passably  consistent  objectivity,  especially  with  regard  to 
social  problems. 

Our  main  concern  in  this  chapter  is  therefore  to  explain,  as 
clearly  as  we  can  in  limited  space,  the  scientific  attitude,  and 
to  point  out  the  obstacles  and  contrasts  to  it  in  the  popular 
mind.  Some  of  the  most  significant  elements  in  the  scientific 
attitude  cannot  well  be  understood  apart  from  reference  to 
scientific  method.  We  shall  not  need,  however,  to  give,  even 


3  See  above,  pp.  48-53. 


204 


CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 


from  an  elementary  standpoint,  a  full  statement  of  the  steps 
and  characteristics  of  the  scientific  method.  We  will  limit  our 
discussion  to  such  a  statement  as  will  bring  out  the  salient  char¬ 
acteristics  of  the  scientific  attitude,  and  give  us  a  glimpse  into 
the  processes  and  problems  of  scientific  method,  as  related  to  the 
investigation  of  social  phenomena  and  the  solution  of  social  prob¬ 
lems,  especially  that  of  conflict  of  interests. 

Let  us  begin  with  that  older  type  of  science  known  as  classi- 
ficatory  or  taxonomic  science.  Its  chief  task  was  to  classify 
phenomena.  It  was  the  delight  and  the  great  work  of  the  old- 
time  naturalists,  men  like  Cuvier  in  zoology  and  paleontology, 
and  Linnaeus  and  Asa  Gray  in  botany,  to  study  the  structure  of 
animals  and  plants,  and  on  the  basis  of  their  structure  to  classify 
them  into  families,  genera,  and  species.  Although  the  task  of 
naming  the  animals  had  scripturally  been  laid  upon  Adam, 
Adam  had  not  completed  it,  as  there  remained  some  millions 
of  unnamed  species.  A  family,  in  “natural  history,”  is  a  wide 
group  of  organisms,  animal  or  plant,  having  certain  structural 
characteristics  in  common.  A  genus  is  a  narrower  group,  com¬ 
posed  of  individuals  which  all  have  not  only  the  structure 
peculiar  to  the  family,  but  additional  common  structural  char¬ 
acteristics,  A  species  is  a  still  smaller  group,  in  which  the  in¬ 
dividuals  have  the  same  family  and  generic  characteristics  and 
in  addition  certain  common  “specific”  ones.  All  the  members 
of  a  species  are  very  much  alike,  those  of  a  genus  less  so ;  those 
of  a  family  still  less. 

Now  it  is  clear  that  plants  and  animals,  or  for  that  matter 
any  other  objects,  can  be  assorted  into  species,  etc.,  only  by  ob¬ 
serving  likenesses  and  differences.  The  steps  in  the  method  of 
classificatory  science  have  traditionally  been  stated  as  (1)  obser¬ 
vation,  (2)  analysis  and  comparison  (observing  likenesses  and 
differences),  (3)  generalization  or  induction.  While  this  state¬ 
ment  will  do  provisionally,  it  will  be  evident  later  on  that  it 
gives  only  the  skeleton  of  scientific  method. 

The  first  step  in  any  scientific  investigation  or  analysis  is  like 
the  beginning  of  the  traditional  recipe  for  cooking  a  rabbit — 
“first  catch  your  rabbit.”  Scientific  method  starts  with  obser¬ 
vation  of  facts.  The  second  step,  or  rather  one  which  should 
be  taken  jointly  with  observation,  is  the  recording  of  the  ob¬ 
served  facts,  preparatory  to  their  later  analysis.  Record  is  both 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


205 


an  adjunct  to  memory  (itself  a  kind  of  record,  but  an  exceed¬ 
ingly  unreliable  one)  and  an  aid  to  orderly  and  purposeful 
observation.  The  observing,  collecting,  and  recording  of  facts 
is  by  no  means  as  simple  as  it  may  at  first  thought  ap¬ 
pear.  Later  in  this  chapter  some  of  the  chief  difficulties  in 
the  way  of  accurate  and  adequate  observation,  especially  in 
fields  intimately  touching  human  interests  and  relations,  are 
noted.3 

When  all  the  facts  which  essentially  appertain  to  the  particu¬ 
lar  phenomena  under  investigation,  or  as  many  of  the  facts  as 
can  be  made  available,  are  observed  and  recorded,  the  next  step 
is  analysis.  Analysis  is  a  complex  process,  involving  (1)  the 
splitting  up  of  apparently  simple  facts  into  their  elements,  (2) 
observing  the  qualities  or  attributes  of  these  elements,  (3)  com¬ 
parison  of  these  attributes,  to  discover  likenesses  and  differences 
in  the  nature  of  the  facts.  Briefly,  analysis  is  the  process  of 
finding  out  the  nature  of  the  facts  and  their  relation  to  one 
another.  These  relations  may  be  either  relations  of  co-existence 
or  of  sequence,  and  in  either  case  may  or  may  not  be  “causal.” 

Analysis  and  comparison  put  us  in  position  to  classify,  and 
to  build  up  abstract  or  generalized  concepts  of  classes.  This 
process  is  generalization  or  induction.  Induction  is  the  process 
of  reasoning  from  particulars  to  the  general.  Every  concept  is 
originally  built  up  by  a  process  of  induction.  Our  idea  of  pine 
trees  is  the  inductive  result  of  observation  and  comparison  of 
many  individual  trees,  all  more  or  less  alike,  yet  more  or  less 
different.  But  the  likenesses  exceed  the  differences,  or  at  least 
there  are  always  certain  common  characteristics  which  we  come 
to  think  of,  apart  from  trees  in  particular,  as  the  character¬ 
istics  of  a  type  which  we  call  the  genus  Pinus.  When  we  have 
observed  and  analyzed  the  facts  of  a  sufficient  number  of  simi¬ 
lar  events  or  phenomena,  we  are  in  position  to  observe  in  the 
various  “cases”  similarities  of  correlation  and  sequence.  Not 
until  we  have  made  such  comparison  and  classification  are  we 
ready  to  draw  our  induction — that  is,  to  formulate  a  general 
statement  of  the  relationships  common  to  this  kind  of  phe¬ 
nomena. 

Inductive  investigation  comprises,  broadly  speaking,  all  the 


8  See  pp.  234,  235,  242,  243,  248,  240. 


206  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

processes  of  observation  and  analysis  of  specific  cases  to  dis¬ 
cover  similarities  of  sequence  and  correlation.  When  these 
similarities  are  found  to  constitute  an  invariable  repetition  of 
similarity,  sequence,  or  correlation,  that  fact  is  stated  as  briefly 
and  accurately  as  possible  in  a  generalization  or  “law” — which 
is  merely  a  “brief,  shorthand  statement”  of  the  observed  rela¬ 
tions  and  sequences.  Briefly,  induction  is  the  derivation  of  a 
generalization  or  “law”  from  experience. 

In  practice,  every  new  scientific  generalization  is  arrived  at 
not  only  upon  the  basis  of  observed  facts,  but  also  by  a  process 
which  includes  not  only  inductive  reasoning,  but  deductive  ap¬ 
plication  of  scientific  generalizations  previously  established. 
Moreover,  in  the  tentative  formulation  of  a  law  much  use  may 
be  made  of  hypothesis  as  to  the  presence  of  significant  facts  not 
yet  made  out.  Such  a  tentatively  formulated  law  must  be 
recognized  as  provisional,  however,  until  the  hypothetical  ele¬ 
ments  are  verified.  Practically,  therefore,  no  scientific  generali¬ 
zation  is  made  without  a  much  more  complex  process  of  obser¬ 
vation,  analysis,  comparison,  and  inductive  inference  than  that 
above  suggested.  Since  every  new  scientific  generalization  is 
based  upon  generalizations  previously  made  and  accepted, 
every  change  or  correction  in  these  previous  generalizations 
requires  modification  in  the  laws  or  generalizations  based  upon 
them. 

It  is  evident  that  deduction — reasoning  from  the  general  to 
the  particular — is  quite  as  necessary  in  scientific  investigation 
as  is  induction.  The  great  difference  in  logical  method  between 
modern  science  and  the  old  time  philosophy  is  that  science  checks 
its  deductive  processes  by  continual  reference  to  experience. 
But  scientific  progress  would  be  impossible,  did  not  every  scien¬ 
tist  use,  of  course  with  critical  care,  the  generalizations  of 
others,  present  and  past,  as  part  of  the  data  for  his  own  observa¬ 
tional  and  logical  processes.  In  thus  using  them  he  is  not  only 
furthering  his  own  inquiries,  but  is  constantly  putting  these 
prior  generalizations  to  the  acid  test  of  truth — that  is,  whether 
or  not  they  will  “work.” 

It  is  clear,  of  course,  that  every  scientific  investigator  must 
exercise  care,  not  only  to  see  that  his  observations  and  experi¬ 
ments  are  free  from  subjective  bias  (that  what  he  records  as 
fact  is  fact)  and  his  logical  processes  free  from  fallacy  ( e.g 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


207 


that  his  mathematical  calculations  are  free  from  error),  but 
that  the  generalizations  he  employs  as  guide  to  his  observations 
or  as  premises  in  his  reasoning  are  themselves  scientifically  well 
founded. 

Evidently,  then,  certain  things  are  essential  to  scientific 
method.  These  indispensables  are:  (1)  a  body  of  observed  facts, 
(2)  established  generalizations,  principles,  or  laws,  the  result 
of  previous  scientific  work,  (3)  the  fundamental  laws  of 
thought  or  logic.  (Anyone  who  thinks  that  two  and  two 
make  five,  or  who  calls  black  white,  will  not  make  a  successful 
scientist.) 

To  these  fundamental  essentials  must  be  added  certain  other 
equipments  or  processes,  namely,  (4)  scientific  imagination, 
which  aids  in  directing  observation,  analysis,  and  inference,  and 
which  enables  the  investigator  to  form  (5)  hypotheses. 

An  hypothesis  is  a  more  or  less  shrewd  guess,  formulated  in 
reference  to  incomplete  or  incompletely  analyzed  data,  as  to 
conclusions  or  generalizations  which  may  on  further  investiga¬ 
tion  validly  be  drawn  from  them.  Or  it  may  be  an  assumption 
with  regard  to  the  existence  of  certain  factual  data  not  actually 
observed.  It  was  thus,  for  instance,  that  the  planet  Neptune 
was  discovered,  in  1846.  The  then  outermost  planet  known, 
Uranus,  was  not  behaving  in  its  orbital  revolution  around  the 
sun  exactly  as  the  computations  of  astronomers  showed  it  should 
behave,  on  the  basis  of  the  gravitational  influence  of  the  then 
known  bodies  of  the  solar  system.  So  the  hypothesis  was  formed 
that  there  must  be  another  planet  outside  the  orbit  of  Uranus, 
causing  the  otherwise  inexplainable  perturbation  in  the  move¬ 
ment  of  Uranus.  This  hypothesis  was  verified  by  the  discovery 
of  Neptune,  after  magnificent  and  independent  mathematical 
calculations  by  Adams  and  Leverrier,  which  enabled  them  to 
tell  observers  approximately  where  they  would,  at  a  given  time, 
find  the  new  planet. 

To  hypothesis  must  be  added  (6)  experiment;  but  as  experi¬ 
ment  is  not  usually  possible,  in  the  strict  scientific  sense,  in  the 
realm  of  phenomena  with  which  the  social  scientist  has  to  deal, 
we  may  pass  it  by  without  explanatory  comment. 

And  finally,  (7)  analogy  plays  an  important,  but  dangerous 
role,  in  scientific  inquiry.  At  best,  it  is  but  a  kind  of  hypothesis, 
or  hypothetical  reasoning,  which  one  interested  in  unravelling 


!  208  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

the  nature  of  social  phenomena  and  social  causation  had  best 
avoid.  The  main  trouble  with  analogy  is  that  it  leads  us  to  see 
likenesses  and  overlook  differences.4 

The  foregoing  attempt  briefly  to  state  the  elements  of  scien¬ 
tific  method  has  made  no  reference  to  *  ‘cause”  or  1  ‘ causation.  ’ y 
Properly  amplified  and  illustrated  it  would  constitute  a  fairly 
adequate  statement  of  the  method  of  the  older  taxonomic  science, 
science  in  the  stage  of  definition  and  classification.  But  science 
to-day  has  gone  far  beyond  the  taxonomic  stage,  though  classi¬ 
fication  is  still  as  necessary  as  ever;  scientific  investigation  is 
now  engaged  primarily  in  problems  of  sequence  or  causation. 
We  want  to  know  not  only  what  things  are,  and  what  their 
generic  and  specific  relationships  are,  but  why  they  act  as  they 
do.  The  emphasis  of  scientific  investigation  has  swung  from 
structure  to  function.  In  biology,  for  instance,  we  study  the 
comparative  anatomy  of  ascidians,  not  to  classify  ascidians  into 
exact  genera  and  species  (for  that  in  the  main  has  already  been 
done),  but  for  the  light  comparative  anatomy  may  throw  upon 
physiological  processes,  a  matter  of  causal  relationships.  And 
in  economics,  after  a  century  of  taxonomic  discussion,  which  has 
not  yet,  however,  produced  a  consistent  and  generally  accepted 
set  of  definitions  and  concepts,  we  are  to-day  less  interested  in 
the  classificatory  relation  of  capital  to  other  forms  of  wealth 

4  The  reader  who  desires  a  more  adequate  undertsanding  of  the  pro¬ 
cesses  of  scientific  method  than  can  be  gained  from  the  above  sketch 
may  consult  the  little  book  on  the  Principles  of  Science,  by  W.  F.  Cooley, 
1912.  It  is  perhaps  the  best  available  brief  presentation  of  what  scien¬ 
tific  method  involves.  See  also  J.  E.  Creighton,  An  Introductory  Logic, 
4th  edition,  1920,  Part  II.  Readers  interested  in  pursuing  the  general 
subject  further  should  consult  Karl  Pearson,  Grammar  of  Science,  2nd 
edition,  1900.  (In  the  3rd  edition  of  this  work,  1911,  it  was  planned  in 
two  volumes,  but  only  the  first  volume  has  thus  far  been  published.  The 
2nd  edition  is  thus  the  best  for  the  general  student.)  John  Stuart  Mill, 
System  of  Logic,  5th  edition,  1872 ;  W.  Stanley  Jevons,  The  Principles  of 
Science,  a  Treatise  on  Logic  and  Scientific  Method,  1874;  John  Dewey 
and  others,  Creative  Intelligence,  Essays  in  the  Pragmatic  Attitude 
(especially  the  chapter  of  “Scientific  Method  and  the  Individual 
Thinker,”  by  George  H.  Mead),  1917;  Bertrand  Russell,  Mysticism  and 
Logic,  191S,  Chs.  2,  6,  and  9;  The  Problems  of  Philosophy  (Home  Uni¬ 
versity  Library),  Chs.  5-7,  12-14;  Scientific  Method  in  Philosophy,  1913. 
Suggestive  matter  may  also  be  found  in  John  Fiske,  Outlines  of  Cosmic 
Philosophy,  1874,  Vol.  I,  Part  I,  Chs.  1,  3,  5,  and  6,  and,  in  V.  Pareto, 
Traits  de  Sociologie  General,  2  vols.,  1917,  especially  Vol.  I,  Ch.  1. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  209 

.than  we  are  in  the  function  of  capital — what  it  does  that  interest 
should  be  paid  to  its  owner.5 

If  we  mean  by  scientific  method  merely  freedom  from  sub¬ 
jective  bias  in  observing  and  recording  facts,  mere  observation, 
orderly  arrangement,  cataloguing,  and  description  may  be  called 
“scientific.”  In  this  sense  an  accurate,  objective  description  of 
the  state  of  a  city’s  streets,  or  of  the  physiognomy  of  thieves 
may  be  “scientific.”  A  monograph  describing  the  distribution 
of  population  by  age,  sex,  conjugal  condition,  etc.,  is  scientific 
in  this  descriptive  sense.  So  is  a  table,  based  on  objectively  ob¬ 
tained  data,  showing  the  ups  and  downs  of  the  bank  discount 
rate,  or  the  number  of  suicides  or  infant  deaths  by  months  and 
years. 

But  in  a  more  accurate  sense,  such  descriptive  productions 
are  but  the  raw  material — the  factual  data — necessary  to  analy¬ 
sis  and  solution  of  problems  of  cause  and  effect — the  problems 
which  are  now  of  primary  interest  to  us. 

We  want  to  know  why  the  streets  are  in  the  condition  de¬ 
scribed,  why  the  demographic  distribution  of  the  population  is 
what  it  is,  why  discount,  and  suicide,  and  death  rates  fluctuate 
as  they  do.  And,  to  the  extent  that  we  are  objective  and  scien¬ 
tific,  we  desire  solution  of  these  “whys,”  these  causation  prob¬ 
lems,  not  in  the  personalistic  praise-and-blame  terms  of  the 
popular-minded  and  usually  more  or  less  propagandistic  con¬ 
servative  or  radical,  and  not  in  terms  of  “final  causes,”  which 
explain  nothing,  but  in  terms  of  impersonal,  phenomenal  corre¬ 
lation  and  sequence. 

Generally  speaking,  naturalists  before  the  time  of  Darwin 
were  interested  in  species  as  species.  The  traditional  authori¬ 
tarian  doctrine  that  each  species  was  the  result  of  a  direct  and 
special  Divine  act  of  creation,  unintermediated  by  any  evolu¬ 
tionary  or  developmental  process,  precluded  much  inquiry  into 
the  causation  or  developmental  origin  of  species.  Since  the  pub¬ 
lication  of  Darwin’s  great  work  in  1859,°  the  interest  has  centered 

6  Nevertheless,  as  we  shall  see  (pp.  245-247),  one  thing  which  still 
makes  the  application  of  scientific  method  to  the  investigation  of  social 
problems  very  difficult  is  the  lack  of  a  sufficient  body  of  accurate  and 
generally  accepted  definitions. 

8  The  Origin  of  Species. 


210  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

almost  wholly  in  developmental  or  casual  processes.  The  old 
geography  which  onr  parents  and  grandparents  studied,  to  take 
another  illustration,  was  a  dry  catalogue  of  rivers,  cities,  boun¬ 
daries,  and  commercial  statistics.  The  study  of  geography  to¬ 
day,  in  good  schools  at  least,  has  to  do  with  causal  relations  be¬ 
tween  man,  or  human  culture,  and  the  physical  environment — 
a  much  more  interesting,  as  well  as  an  infinitely  more  important 
study.  Or  take  our  chapters  on  conservatism  and  radicalism. 
There  has  been  some  analysis,  defining,  and  classification,  but 
not  for  their  own  sake,  and  only  in  so  far  as  seemed  essential 
to  discover  and  elucidate  the  causes  and  effects  of  these  attitudes. 

Now  what  do  we  mean  by  “ cause’ ’  and  “causation”? 

In  the  scientific  sense,  a  “cause”  is  merely  a  fact,  phenome¬ 
non,  or  event,  which  invariably  precedes  another.  If  the  first 
event  is  the  cause  of  the  second,  the  second  does  not  occur  unless 
the  other  has  taken  place.  More  accurately,  the  cause  of  an 
event  comprises  all  the  preceding  and  co-existent  events  with¬ 
out  which  the  event  in  question  does  not  occur.  Causation  is 
invariable  sequence.  If  we  find  that  a  particular  type  of  event, 
B,  never  takes  place  until  another  event,  A,  has  taken  place, 
we  say  that  event  A  is  the  cause  of  event  B.  Where  we  are 
observing  and  analyzing  a  particular  event  or  phenomenon — 
one,  let  us  suppose,  unique  to  our  experience — we  cannot  be  cer¬ 
tain  that  the  phenomenon  or  event  preceding  it  is  its  cause,  in 
the  sense  that  the  same  sequence  would  be  observed  in  a  second 
case.  To  conclude  forthwith  that  event  A  preceding  event  B 
in  this  particular  case  is  the  cause  of  B,  would  commit  us  to  the 
post  hoc ,  propter  hoc  fallacy.  We  are  conscious  of  the  danger 
of  falling  into  this  fallacy,  this  false  inference,  because  long  ob¬ 
servation  has  taught  us  that  one  event  may  precede  another  in 
a  given  case  without  doing  so  in  another  case.  It  is  only  after 
observation  of  repeated  sequences  that  we  are  entitled  to  draw 
generalizations  as  to  “causal”  relations,  or  invariable  sequences. 

Readers  of  Mark  Twain  will  remember  that  his  Connecticut 
Yankee  in  King  Arthur’s  Court  got  into  a  tight  place  at  a 
tournament  and  was  compelled  to  shoot  a  couple  of  knights,  who 
were  charging  down  upon  him.  There  was  a  loud  report  and  a 
dead  knight — and  a  court  thrown  into  consternation,  because  it 
had  no  experience  of  firearms  and  consequently  was  in  no  posi¬ 
tion  to  render  the  sort  of  verdict  as  to  causation  that  a  modern 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


211 


jury  would  render  without  hesitation.  Subsequently,  the  world, 
through  much  repetition  of  experience,  has  come  to  know  all 
about  firearms  and  their  causal  sequences. 

So,  if  we  wish  to  state  causal  relations  observed  as  parts  of 
a  given  event,  we  have  to  collect  the  facts  pertaining  to  a  large 
number  of  similar  events.  Accepting  as  true  the  tradition  about 
Newton  and  the  apple,  the  one  apple ’s  fall  was  only  a  suggestive 
event  to  Newton,  possibly  productive  in  his  mind  of  an  hypo¬ 
thesis  as  to  a  possible  “causal”  law  of  gravitation.  But  his 
formulation  of  the  law  of  gravitation  came  only  after  prolonged 
mathematical  analysis  and  the  use  of  observations  and  calcula¬ 
tions  by  earlier  investigators.  More  than  that,  the  “law”  was 
not  accepted  as  true  until  it  had  been  subjected,  not  only  to 
rigid  verification  of  the  mathematical  analysis  by  which  it  was 
arrived  at,  but  to  the  test  of  experience,  when  it  turned  out  that 
all  observed  bodies  do  “attract  each  other”  substantially  as  the 
law  describes.7 

The  reason  we  are  continually  cross-questioning  nature  with 
inquiries  into  What?  How?  Where?  and  Why?  lies  partly  in 
the  desire  to  know  truth  for  its  own  sake,  and  partly  to  know 
truth  which  may  have  practical  application  in  solving  problems 
or  meeting  practical  needs.  Many  scientists  hold  to  the  ideal 
“science  for  science’s  sake,”  but  in  practice  an  immense  amount 
of  scientific  research  is  carried  through  with  utilitarian  ends  in 
view. 

It  is  argued  with  some  cogency  that  there  may  be  a  tendency 
in  the  utilitarian  aim  to  impair  the  scientific  objectivity  of  an 
investigation.  This  danger,  greater  in  social  science  than  any¬ 
where  else,  must  be  freely  recognized.  We  must  constantly  be 
on  our  guard  against  it,  but  whatever  the  abstract  ideal  as  to 
the  proper  motivation  of  scientific  inquiry  may  be,  it  is  clear 
that  we  are  constantly  confronted  with  social  problems  and 
issues  on  which  objective  data  are  needed  and  for  which  scien¬ 
tific  solutions  must  be  sought. 

One  reason  why  we  seek  a  cause-and-effect  analysis  of  phe¬ 
nomena  is  because  we  wish  to  predict  and  control.  We  not  only 

1  “Substantially,”  not  absolutely,  if  Einstein’s  revision  of  the  law  be 
proved,  on  further  observation,  to  be  necessary.  It  appears  also  that 
intra-atomic  particles — ions — do  not  move  in  accordance  with  Newton's 
law. 


212  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

want  to  know  the  facts  about  infant  mortality  in  the  present 
and  the  past,  but  we  want  to  be  able  to  predict  the  future  effect 
of  certain  conditions,  and,  through  our  ability  to  predict,  to 
modify  these  conditions  and  control  the  future  infant  mortality 
rate.  In  the  case  of  such  a  social  phenomenon  or  problem,  the 
urge  to  research  is  a  practical,  moral  motive  rather  than  an 
expression  of  pure  scientific  curiosity. 

It  should  be  clear  that  rational  control  of  phenomena  (either 
physical  or  social)  can  rest  only  upon  the  basis  of  scientific  in¬ 
vestigation  and  knowledge  of  causes  and  effects.  Control  is  im¬ 
possible  without  prevision ;  prevision  is  impossible  in  the  absence 
of  knowledge  of  causal  correlation  and  sequence.  The  ability 
accurately  to  predict  is  the  test  of  the  validity  of  scientific  con¬ 
clusions  or  generalizations. 

Between  scientific  prevision  (foreseeing)  and  popular  predic¬ 
tion  (foretelling)  there  is  a  world  of  difference.  The  latter  is 
generally  based  upon  inaccurate  and  ill-balanced  observation 
and  confused  analysis,  and  not  infrequently  upon  positive  illu¬ 
sion  and  intellectual  dishonesty.  We  saw,  for  instance,  that 
conservatives  are  given  to  predicting  that  dire  results  will  flow 
from  innovation.  Some  predictions  of  that  kind  may  be  real¬ 
ized  because  they  are  founded  on  adequate  experience ;  some  are 
the  result  of  sincere  conviction,  but  are  based  upon  inadequate 
experience  and  consequently  would  not  necessarily  be  true ;  while 
some  are  the  product  of  sinister  interests  which  do  not  hesitate 
to  distort  the  facts,  to  lie,  and  to  arouse  groundless  fears,  if 
only  by  so  doing  these  interests  can  prevent  undesired  changes. 
Scientific  prevision,  on  the  other  hand,  is  firmly  founded  on  ex¬ 
perimental,  observational  knowledge  of  facts  and  objective 
analysis  of  their  causal  connections. 

Both  conservative  and  radical  are  given  to  long-range  predic¬ 
tion  on  slender  data  or  experience.  The  enthusiastic  radical  is 
sure  that  his  particular  plan  of  reform  or  revolution  will  usher 
in  the  millennium.  The  dyed-in-the-wool  conservative  meets 
every  proposal  for  innovative  improvement  with  the  objection 
“It  can  never  be  done!”  Science  realizes  that  “never”  is  a 
long  word.  That  is  one  reason,  perhaps,  why  scientific  men  are 
chary  of  making  long-range  predictions,  especially  in  fields  in¬ 
volving  so  many  unknown  data  and  such  a  variety  of  ill-under¬ 
stood  forces  as  do  social  phenomena. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


213 


Prediction  can  be  accurate,  and  the  control  dependent  upon 
our  power  to  predict  efficient,  just  to  the  extent  that  the  scien¬ 
tific  knowledge  upon  which  it  is  founded  is  adequate  and  exact. 
Put  briefly  and  somewhat  technically,  reliability  of  predic¬ 
tion  and  efficiency  of  control  depend  upon  positivity  of  knowl¬ 
edge.  No  scientific  law  or  generalization  is  absolute.  It  is  rela¬ 
tive  to  the  data  from  which  it  is  derived  and  of  which  it  is  a 
“ brief  resume”  or  shorthand  statement.8  A  scientific  generali¬ 
zation  must  always  be  read  with  the  proviso  “so  far  as  we 
know, ”  or  “as  far  as  observation  shows. ’ 9  In  general,  the  posi¬ 
tivity  or  accuracy  of  scientific  generalizations,  and  of  the  de¬ 
ductions  and  predictions  drawn  from  them,  are  in  direct  pro¬ 
portion  to  the  degree  to  which  observation  and  inductive  infer¬ 
ence  have  taken  account  of  all  the  facts  pertinent  to  the  phe¬ 
nomena  involved.  We  can  predict  that  the  sun  will  rise  to-mor¬ 
row  morning  with  greater  certainty  than  we  can  say  whether  it 
will  rise  clear  or  cloudy. 

Generally  speaking,  those  sciences  where  the  data  is  capable 
of  accurate  observation  and  measurement,  which  are  accordingly 
called  the  “exact”  sciences,  are  characterized  by  a  high  degree 
of  positivity,  while  in  those  where  the  data  are  so  numerous  and 
so  intricately  inter-related  that  they  are  not  easily  reducible  to 
accurate  observation  and  measurement  the  degree  of  positivity 
is  low. 

The  physical  sciences,  astronomy,  physics,  chemistry,  and  to 
a  less  degree  biology,  with  its  border  sciences  bio-chemistry  and 
genetics,  belong  to  the  class  of  exact  sciences — sciences  in  which 
accurate  observation  and  record  are  possible,  and  in  which 
analysis,  both  inductive  and  deductive,  is  carried  on  with  the 
indispensable  aid  of  mathematics  and  statistics.  The  social  sci¬ 
ences,  including  psychology  (which,  however,  in  its  fundamental 
aspects,  may  be  classified  with  the  natural  sciences),  economics, 
political  science,  anthropology,  sociology,  and  ethics  belong  to 
the  group  of  inexact  or  “synoptic”9  sciences,  although  in  all 
of  them  there  is  an  increasing  use  of  statistical  methods. 

Generalizations  in  social  science  are  highly  relative.  To  say, 
for  instance,  that  population  tends  to  press  on  food  supply  is 


8  Pearson,  Grammar  of  Science,  2d  edition,  1000,  Cli.  3. 

9  See  Pearson,  op.  cit.,  pp.  513,  514. 


214  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

true  only  for  given  conditions.  It  is  generally  not  true  in  new 
countries,  or  among  peoples  who  have  learned  to  control  their 
fecundity.  That  social  inferiors  tend  to  emulate  their  superiors 
may  be  true  in  general,  but  there  are  cases  in  which  the  opposite 
is  true.  We  got  ragtime,  jazz,  and  the  turkey  trot  from  the 
savages  of  the  South  Seas  or  some  equally  heathen  part  of  the 
earth,  and  fashions  in  women’s  clothes  are  said  to  be  set  by  the 
fast  women  of  Paris.  That  men  consciously  calculate  pains  and 
pleasures  is  true,  but  it  does  not  follow  that  all  economic  acts 
are  the  result  of  conscious  calculation.  That  women  are  in¬ 
ferior  to  men  in  intellectual  output  is  true,  but  that  is  not  to 
say  that  they  are  so  because  of  hereditary  factors  or  that  they 
must  continue  to  be  so.  Illustrations  of  relativity  could  be 
multiplied  practically  without  limit. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  writers  and  investigators  in  the  social 
science  fields  have  been  slow  to  recognize  this  principle.  The  so¬ 
cial  sciences  were  offshoots  of  philosophy  and  metaphysics,  and 
that,  among  other  reasons,  retarded  them  in  acquiring  really  sci¬ 
entific  methods  of  investigation.  Psychology  suffered  from  close 
association  with  deductive  and  absolutistic  metaphysics.  Eco¬ 
nomics  was  an  offshoot  of  political  and  moral  philosophy.  Soci¬ 
ology  built  out  “cantilever  fashion,”  as  Ross  puts  it,10  from  bi¬ 
ology,  and  fell  a  prey  to  superficial  analogical  methods  from 
which  it  has  not  yet  fully  recovered.  Nearly  all  the  social 
sciences  were  greatly  retarded  by  the  early  desire  they  mani¬ 
fested  to  reduce  everything  to  terms  of  some  one  or  two  or  three 
“fundamental  postulates.”  Orthodox  economics  had  its  “eco¬ 
nomic  man”  with  his  “economic  motive,”  and  its  god  “free 
competition.”  Socialistic  economics  followed  with  its  “class 
struggle”  and  “surplus  value.”  Modern  political  philosophy, 
the  precursor  of  political  science,  started  either  with  Hegelian 
absolutes  or  with  “social  contract”  and  “natural  liberty.”  An-, 
thropology  had  its  “parallels,”  and  sociologists  vied  in  pro¬ 
posing  “fundamental  social  facts”  in  terms  of  which  sociologi¬ 
cal  generalizations  were  to  be  formulated.  All  this,  especially 
when  coupled  to  a  very  prevalent  tendency  of  social  “scientists'' 
to  draw  sweeping  “laws”  from  very  slender  factual  data,  not 
unnaturally  led  the  natural  scientists  to  distrust  and  then  to 


w  Foundations  of  Sociology,  1905,  p.  50. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


215 


ridicule  the  pretensions  of  the  social  subjects  to  a  scientific 
status.  A  part  of  this  distrust,  however,  was  due  to  a  too  nar¬ 
row  conception  of  science  and  scientific  method — to  limitation 
of  the  term  scientific  to  investigations  which  could  be  carried 
on  with  mathematical  or  quasi-mathematical  exactitude.  This 
conception  is  fallacious,  for  reasons  which  it  would  take  too  long 
to  explain  here.11  Science,  indeed,  may  be  regarded  as  measure¬ 
ment,  and  in  this  sense,  it  is  always  quantitative,  but  measure¬ 
ment,  or  valuation,  to  be  a  valid  basis  of  generalization,  predic¬ 
tion,  and  control,  need  not  be  reducible  to  exact  mathematical 
units.  Much  pseudo-scientific  work,  indeed,  has  resulted,  in  the 
field  of  the  social  sciences,  from  premature  attempts  at  mathe¬ 
matical  method  and  statement — for  instance,  in  much  of  the 
economics  of  diminishing  utility  and  marginal  productivity. 

On  the  other  hand,  great  promise  for  development  of  scien¬ 
tific  knowledge  in  the  social  science  fields  now  lies  in  the  intro¬ 
duction,  and  in  the  rapid  development  and  refinement  of  the  use, 
of  statistical  methods  of  observation,  record,  and  analysis.  By 
reason  of  such  comparatively  recent  developments,  as  well  as 
the  present  widespread  interest  in  scientific  methodology  in 
the  social  sciences,  one  need  not  hesitate  to  believe  that  scien¬ 
tific  method  will  gradually  supplant  emotional  conflict  and  per- 
sonalistic  discussion  in  large  measure,  at  least  among  liberally 
educated  people. 

3.  Characteristics  of  the  Scientific  Attitude 

Before  scientific  method  can  be  widely  and  confidently  utilized 
to  guide  social  policy,  and  before  the  general  populace  will  be 
willing  to  adopt  such  guidance,  certain  difficulties  will  have  to 
be  overcome  or  greatly  diminished,  and  certain  very  prevalent 
attitudinal  obstacles,  some  of  which  have  been  suggested  with 
perhaps  sufficient  fullness  in  the  preceding  chapters,  will  have 
to  be  removed.  In  a  word,  the  application  of  scientific  method 
to  the  investigation  of  social  problems,  and  to  the  solution  of 
social  issues  and  conflicts,  is  conditioned  upon  the  acquirement 
of  the  scientific  attitude 

It  must  be  firmly  borne  In  upon  us  that  the  scientific  atti¬ 
tude  rests  upon  one,  and  only  one,  fundamental  article  of  faith 


11  See  Pearson,  op.  cit.,  Ch.  12. 


216  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

— faith  in  the  universality  of  cause  and  effect.  Without  this 
faith,  a  steady,  undaunted  pursuit  of  scientific  knowledge  as 
a  guide  to  action  may  he  incontinently  flouted  whenever  it 
interferes  with  special  interest  or  prejudice. 

Scientific  generalizations  are  constantly  undergoing  revision, 
but  that  is  true  only  because  further  observation  and  analysis 
correct  shortcomings  and  defects  in  previous  investigation.  There 
is,  as  we  have  attempted  to  point  out,  nothing  absolute  about 
any  scientific  “law”  or  generalization;  but  that  is  so  only  be¬ 
cause  of  our  finite  powers  of  observation  and  logical  inference. 
What  we  ought  to  know  is  infinite,  what  we  can  know  is  finite, 
what  we  do  know  infinitesimal.  A  mind  of  sufficient  power  could 
formulate  absolute  generalizations  or  formulae,12  and  they  would 
never  stand  in  need  of  revision,  because  they  would  take  full 
account  of  every  force  in  the  universe. 

If,  however,  the  universe — that  is,  nature — were  a  realm  of 
whim  instead  of  a  dependable  mechanism,  observation,  classi¬ 
fication,  and  analysis  would  obviously  be  futile.  We  might  just 
as  well  look  for  the  sun  to  rise  in  the  west  any  day,  a  Bermuda 
onion  plant  to  yield  oranges  one  day  and  potatoes  the  next,  or 
an  angry  man  to  be  reasonable. 

Science,  in  other  words,  is  deterministic — must  be  so.  No  one 
who  does  not  become  a  thoroughgoing  determinist  can  ever  com¬ 
pletely  acquire  the  scientific  attitude.  One  who  is  able  to  take 
the  scientific  point  of  view,  and  to  lay  aside  the  idea  that  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  whim  or  chance,  sees  the  universe  as  a 
mechanism.  A  mechanism  is  an  inter-relation  of  causes  and 

12  “Taking  all  such  functions  for  all  the  particles  in  the  universe, 
there  will  be  theoretically  some  one  formula  embracing  them  all,  and 
this  formula  may  be  regarded  as  the  single  and  supreme  law  of  the 
spatio-temporal  world.” — Bertrand  Russell,  Scientific  Method  of  Phil¬ 
osophy,  1913,  p.  8. 

“This  notion  of  ‘chance’  is  a  misleading  figment  inherited  of  the 
modern  world  from  the  days  of  blank  ignorance.  The  ‘Nature-searchers’ 
of  to-day  admit  no  such  possibility  as  of  chance.  ...  A  leading  writer 
and  investigator  of  the  Mid-Victorian  Era,  the  physicist  John  Tyndall, 
pointed  out  in  a  celebrated  address  delivered  at  Belfast  that  according 
to  the  conceptions  of  the  mechanism  of  nature  arrived  at  by  modern 
science,  the  structure  of  that  mechanism  is  such  that  it  would  have  been 
possible  for  a  being  of  adequate  intelligence  inspecting  the  gaseous 
nebula  from  which  our  planetary  system  has  evolved  to  have  foreseen 
in  that  luminous  vapor  the  Belfast  audience  and  the  professor  address¬ 
ing  it !” — E.  Ray  Lankester,  The  Kingdom  of  Man,  1907,  p.  8. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


217 


effects.  It  is  something  we  can  analyze.  We  can  understand 
its  processes,  and  in  a  measure  control  them  to  our  own  pur¬ 
poses.  Of  nothing  else,  were  anything  else  scientifically  con¬ 
ceivable,  is  this  true. 

Once  perceive  the  significance  of  this  fundamental  faith  in 
the  uniformity  and  dependability  of  nature,  and  it  becomes 
evident  that  the  scientist  must  regard  man  as  a  part  of  nature, 
and  must  hold  that  social  relations,  for  all  their  seeming  whim¬ 
sicality  and  indeterminate  complexity,  function  in  complete 
accord  with  the  universal  law  of  cause  and  effect.  Both  man’s 
organism  13  and  his  social  organization  and  processes  are  simply 
parts  of  the  natural  mechanism  of  eause-and-effect  correlations 
and  sequences.  As  we  more  fully  realize  this  fact,  and  as  we 
attain  more  adequate  analytical  power  and  knowledge,  we  can 
investigate  these  psychological  and  social  mechanisms  and  de¬ 
scribe  their  operation — their  correlations  and  sequences — and 
formulate  these  descriptions  in  the  convenient  form  of  scientific 
psychological  and  sociological  generalizations  or  laws. 

The  mechanistic  conception  of  the  universe,  including  human 
activity  and  social  relations,  leaves  no  place  for  “explanation” 
of  phenomena  by  reference  to  mystical  or  metaphysical  entities, 
nor  for  the  time-honored  idea  of  the  freedom  of  the  will.  Psy¬ 
chologists  have  practically  ceased  to  have  any  interest  in  the 
old  dispute  over  free  will  and  determinism,  partly,  no  doubt, 
because  the  phrase  free  will  can  be  made  to  mean  anything  or 
nothing,  but  mainly  because  psychology,  becoming  scientific, 
necessarily  becomes  thoroughly  deterministic.  Those  philoso¬ 
phers  who  still  think  that  the  free  will  tradition  is  worth  saving, 
are  compelled  by  the  march  of  the  scientific  conception  of  life 
and  our  increasing  specific  knowledge  of  the  mechanism  of  hu¬ 
man  behavior,  either  to  state  the  libertarian  doctrine  in  terms 
which  deprive  it  of  any  practical  significance,  or  to  push  it 
back  into  transcendental  metaphysics  where  it  takes  on  a  wordy 
and  scientifically  meaningless  nebulosity. 

A  very  essential  prerequisite  to  the  scientific  study  of  social 
relations  and  processes  is  a  well-developed  objective,  scientific 
psychology.  The  lack  of  a  mechanistic  psychology,  free  from 


“Whether  analyzed  and  described  in  “psychic”  or  physical  terms,  or 
in  some  inconsistent  but  possibly  convenient  combination  of  the  two. 


218  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

a  priori  philosophical  and  metaphysical  presuppositions,  based 
upon  prolonged  and  disciplined  observation  and  inductive  analy¬ 
sis  of  human  behavior,  which  will  utilize  the  fast  accumulating 
knowledge  of  physiology,  has  probably  been  the  chief  obstacle 
to  the  development  of  an  objective  treatment  of  human  affairs. 
Such  a  psychology — the  mechanistic  psychology  of  behavior14 — 
is  now  in  process  of  rapid  development.  Its  methods  and  postu¬ 
lates  aim  to  be  scientific  in  the  fundamental  sense.  It  regards 
the  human  individual  as  a  mechanism,  and  the  key  to  its  under¬ 
standing  an  objective  analysis  of  the  mechanism  of  stimulus 
and  response,  from  the  simplest  to  the  most  complex  aspects  of 
that  process.  In  a  word,  behavioristic  or  mechanistic  psychol¬ 
ogy  seeks  the  verifiable  causes  (sequences)  of  human  activity. 
It  aims  to  discover  the  facts  as  to  the  mechanism  of  human 
personality  and  the  causation  of  the  individual  temperaments 
and  attitudes.15 

Already,  although  research  in  this  field  is  still  in  its  infancy, 
it  is  becoming  clear  that  variations  in  temperament  and  “  per¬ 
sonality”  and  hence  in  the  type  of  behavior  to  be  expected  of  an 
individual,  are  to  no  small  degree  influenced  by  the  secretions 
of  the  ductless  glands.  Knowledge  in  this  field  has  gone  far 
enough  to  have  occasioned  some  important  changes  in  the  treat¬ 
ment  of  diseases  and  abnormalities.16  This  is  in  direct  line  with 
the  faith  that  man  is  a  part  of  nature,  and  that  there  is  an  ob¬ 
servable  mechanism  of  life  and  action,  which  if  we  are  only  at 
pains  to  investigate  with  sufficient  scientific  patience  and  accur¬ 
acy  will  give  us  true  knowledge  of  human  nature  and  its  work- 

14  It  is  needless  to  state  that  the  term  behavior  as  used  in  modern 
psychology  carries  no  moral  implications  whatever. 

15  Many  able  men  still,  of  course,  either  reject  this  mechanistic  view  on 
ethical  grounds  or  hold  it  impracticable  as  a  guide  to  method.  Because 
every  advance  hitherto  made  in  study  of  the  “psycho-physical”  mechan¬ 
ism  reveals,  as  he  thinks,  ever  greater  complexities  and  more  difficult 
problems  calling  for  solution,  Mr.  J.  S.  Haldane,  for  example  ( Mech¬ 
anism ,  Life  and  Personality ,  1921),  despairs  of  our  ever  .reaching  a 
thoroughgoing  mechanistic — that  it,  scientific— explanation,  and  falls 
back  on  a  mystical  entity  “personality,”  which  really  explains  nothing. 

16  Although  it  isi  highly  technical  and  somewhat  daring  in  its  infer¬ 
ences,  the  reader  may  consult  S.  W.  Handler’s  The  Endocrines,  1921. 
See  also  W.  B.  Cannon,  Bodily  Changes  in  Pain ,  Hunger,  Fear  and  Rage, 
1920,  and  B.  Harrow’s  Glands  in  Health  and  Disease,  1922.  For  other 
references  see  p.  145. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


219 


ings.  The  psychoanalysts,  although  they  use  a  different  method 
of  approach,  and  a  different  terminology,  are  working  along  the 
same  mechanistic  lines. 

We  may  be  permitted  to  point  out  again  that  the  more  thor¬ 
oughly  we  see  the  truth  of  this  mechanistic  theory  of  life,  and 
the  more  we  know  about  the  causation  of  human  conduct,  the 
less  room  we  have  for  personalistic  praise-and-blame  attitudes. 
The  thoroughly  scientific  position  leaves  no  room  for  praise, 
blame,  or  punishment,  if  by  punishment  we  mean  any  element 
of  revenge  and  not  simply  the  sort  of  stimuli  which  act  as  de¬ 
terrents  on  socially  undesirable  conduct.  Praise  and  blame  may 
be  used  as  methods  of  influencing  behavior,  but  for  any  other 
purpose  or  in  any  other  sense  science  has  no  place  for  “moral 
responsibility”  or  “moral  desert.” 

Not  only,  then,  is  the  scientific  mind  deterministic;  it  does 
not  limit  its  faith  in  cause  and  effect  to  the  physical  world,  but 
extends  it  to  include  man;  it  regards  man  as  a  part  of  the 
mechanistic  universe;  it  rejects  the  doctrine  of  freedom  of  the 
will  as  incompatible  with  scientific  attitude;  and  finally,  in  its 
psychology  it  shows  an  increasing  tendency  to  be  thoroughly 
behavioristic. 

But  while  the  thorough  scientific  mind  believes  that  nothing 
happens  except  as  an  effect  of  a  complex  of  causes,  and  that 
every  event  has  its  train  of  effects,  it  does  not  hold  that  we  can 
state  causal  laws  with  more  than  approximate  truth  or  accuracy, 
although  the  inaccuracy  may  be  found  only  “in  the  fourth 
decimal.”  The  scientific  mind  is  in  this  sense  pragmatic.  It 
regards  scientific  knowledge  as  a  sort  of  calculus  of  probabilities. 

With  regard  to  mental  processes,  the  scientific  attitude  is 
marked  by  certain  characteristics  which  we  can  only  mention, 
trusting  that  their  importance  will  be  recognized  without  dis¬ 
cussion.  In  general,  the  scientist  is  what  William  James  called 
“tough-minded,”  or  empirical.  His  mind  is  inductive  before  it 
is  deductive.  It  is  keenly  analytical.  It  is  constructively,  but 
critically,  imaginative.  It  is  highly  skeptical  and  critical  of  all 
assumptions  and  hypotheses,  and  never  accepts  any  one  of  them 
as  established  truth,  suitable  as  other  than  tentative  basis  for 
deductive  processes,  until  it  has  successfully  withstood  the  test 
of  the  most  exacting  criticism  and  experience.  It  is  severely 


220  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

critical  of  all  logical  processes  and  methods,  whether  of  induc¬ 
tive  or  deductive  inference. 

Finally,  the  scientific  spirit  is  characterized  by  certain  dis¬ 
tinctive  attitudes  toward  facts.  These  include  (1)  scientific 
curiosity,  that  is,  a  certain  breadth  and  intensity  of  interest  in 
things,  which  is  sustained  and  directed  by  a  faculty  for  con¬ 
centrated  attention  and  power  of  penetrating,  accurate,  and 
extensive  observation,  (2)  an  unlimited  respect  for  facts,  com¬ 
bined  with  fearless  honesty  and  the  utmost  attainable  imper¬ 
sonality  (freedom  from  interest-and-emotion-bias)  in  facing 
facts,  however  inconvenient  and  disagreeable  they  may  be,  (3) 
cautious  skepticism  with  regard  to  alleged  facts  if  their  authen¬ 
ticity  or  reality  has  not  been  established  by  scientifically  ade¬ 
quate  objective  testimony. 

4.  Difficulties  and  Obstacles 

The  difficulties  in  the  way  of  applying  the  scientific  method 
to  the  evaluation  of  conflicting  interests  and  the  solution  of 
social  issues  may  be  treated  in  two  groups,  (1)  difficulties  due 
to  subjective  interests  and  biases,  and  (2)  difficulties  which 
would  be  encountered  even  if  we  were  free  from  subjective 
biases  and  personal  interests  and  were  all  of  normal  physical 
temperament. 

We  shall  consider  first  the  difficulties  due  to  subjective  biases, 
inasmuch  as  they  involve  a  contrast,  which  it  is  needful  to 
analyze  at  this  point,  between  the  scientific  attitude,  the  ele¬ 
ments  of  which  we  have  just  outlined,  and  the  non-scientific 
or  popular  attitude. 

This  first  group  of  difficulties  must  itself  be  divided  into  two 
classes ;  first,  those  which  are  encountered  in  the  scientist ’s  own 
mind,  but  which  he  consciously  recognizes,  and  as  far  as  possible 
guards  against;  second,  the  qualities  of  the  average  popular 
mind,  which  has  little  or  no  conception  of  the  rigors  of  scien¬ 
tific  method  and  makes  no  pretense  of  applying  it. 

The  subjective  difficulties  in  the  scientist’s  own  mind  are 
difficulties  more  or  less  inherent  in  the  scientific  method,  especi¬ 
ally  where  it  is  used  in  the  investigation  of  human  affairs.  They 
are  in  a  sense  intensive  difficulties.  The  difficulties  which  lie 
in  the  characteristics  of  the  popular  mind  are  rather  obstacles 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


221 


to  the  extension  and  acceptance  of  scientific  method  as  the 
only  sound  basis  for  social  construction.  Here  two  considera¬ 
tions  should  be  noted.  Minds  which  come  anywhere  near  the 
scientific  ideal  are  scarce.  There  is  a  dearth  of  men  and  women 
who  have  at  the  same  time  the  requisite  intellectual  power,  the 
disinterested  objectivity  of  attitude,  and  the  rigid  discipline  in 
scientific  method,  essential  to  the  investigation  of  social  prob¬ 
lems  and  issues  in  a  non-partisan  and  non-temperamental  man¬ 
ner.  In  the  second  place,  it  is  necessary  to  get  scientifically 
established  truth,  once  it  has  been  obtained,  before  the  people 
in  a  way  that  will  secure  their  attention  and  interest,  their 
acceptance  of  it,  and  finally  action  upon  it.  The  more  partisan, 
dogmatic,  self-interested,  and  in  general  subjective  the  people 
are,  the  harder  this  task  will  be. 

The  subjective  difficulties  in  general,  and  in  particular  those 
inherent  in  popular-mindedness,  are  of  exceedingly  great  im¬ 
portance,  especially  in  a  democracy,  where  scientific  conclusions 
can  have  ready  influence  upon  social  practice  only  if  the  people 
can  be  induced  to  acquire  the  ability  and  the  willingness  to 
heed  them  and  apply  them.  Unfortunately,  it  is  the  popular, 
unscientific  mind  which  makes  up  the  bulk  of  the  voting  pub¬ 
lic,  which  usually  secures  the  active  leadership  in  politics,  and 
constitutes  the  great,  and  thus  far,  unsurmounted,  obstacle  to 
the  rationalizing  of  social  control  and  our  handling  of  social 
and  economic  problems.  Social  efficiency,  peace,  and  justice,  and 
more  specifically,  the  de-emotionalizing  and  de-personalizing  of 
the  conflict  between  conservative  and  radical,  thus  rest  squarely 
upon  our  success  in  rationalizing  and  disciplining  the  popular 
mind. 

Leaving  for  later  discussion  the  subjective  difficulties  which 
the  scientist  finds  in  his  own  mental  traits,  let  us  first  ask  what 
are  the  significant  traits  of  this  popular  mind,  in  so  far  as  they 
constitute  obstacles  to  the  spread  of  the  scientific  attitude  and 
method. 

These  traits  are  so  important  that  we  shall  outline  them  with 
some  fulness.  They  can  be  brought  out  most  clearly,  and  the 
contrasting  characteristics  of  the  scientific  mind  indicated  more 
fully,  if  we  compare,  in  parallel  columns,  the  characteristics  of 
the  two  types  of  mind. 


222  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 


The  Scientific  Mind 

1.  Objective. 

Impersonal. 

Desire  subordinated  to 
intellect  and  reason. 

2.  Observant. 

Sensitive. 

Curiosity  impersonal  and 
disciplined. 

Attention  alert  and 
pointed. 

3.  Significantly  informed. 

4.  Objectively  skeptical, 

(factual  skepticism). 

5.  Critical  (a)  of  premises 

(b)  of  logical  processes. 

6.  Tolerant. 

7.  Intellectually  patient. 

(Can  suspend  judg¬ 
ment.) 

9.  Constructively  imagina¬ 
tive. 

10.  Fearless  in  facing  facts. 

11.  Courageous  in  defending 

its  scientific  convictions. 


12.  Unimpressionable  by  au¬ 

thority  or  prestige. 

13.  Intellectually  unconven¬ 

tional. 

14.  Unegotistic. 

15.  Deterministic. 

Behavioristic. 

Not  given  to  praising 
and  blaming. 

Faith  in  law. 


The  Popular  Mind 

1.  Subjective. 

Personal. 

Intellect  and  reason  sub¬ 
ordinated  to  desire. 

2.  Unobservant. 

Insensitive. 

Curiosity  personal  or 
lacking. 

Attention  diffuse  and 
uncertain. 

3.  Insignificantly  informed 

or  ignorant. 

4.  Credulous,  or  subjectively 

skeptical. 

5.  Uncritical,  or  critical 

only  of  logical  processes. 

6.  Intolerant. 

7.  Intellectually  impatient. 

(Jumps  at  conclusions.) 

9.  Fanciful,  or  unimagina¬ 

tive. 

10.  Fearful  of  disagreeable 

facts. 

11.  Lacking  in  the  courage  of 

its  convictions,  unless 
motivated  by  special  in¬ 
terest,  or  backed  by 
authority. 

12.  Reverential  to  authority, 

impressed  by  prestige. 

13.  Intellectually  conven¬ 

tional. 

14.  Egotistic. 

15.  Libertarian. 

Given  to  praising  and 
blaming. 

Faith  in  whim. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


223 


Some  of  these  characteristics  require  elucidation ;  some  per¬ 
haps  do  not.  Taking  them  in  order  named,  the  traits  first  con¬ 
trasted,  objectivity  versus  subjectivity,  determine,  or  include, 
all  the  rest.  In  other  words,  the  traits  which  approximate  a 
mind  to  the  scientific  ideal  collectively  amount  to  objectivity 
of  attitude  and  method,  while  the  further  from  the  scientific 
standard  a  mind  is  the  more  its  traits  make  for  subjectivity. 
The  content  of  the  term  “objective”  is  thus  accurately  indi¬ 
cated  by  the  characteristics  set  down  in  the  first  column;  that 
of  “subjective”  by  those  in  the  second  column. 

Put,  inadequately,  in  terms  of  belief,  the  objective  mind  be¬ 
lieves  what  it  has  to  believe,  the  subjective  what  it  want's  to 
believe.17  The  objective  mind  senses  reality,  observes  the  world, 
without  reference  to  its  own  personal  desires;  the  subjective 
mind  looks  at  things  through  the  glass  of  desire.  The  scientific 
mind  maintains  an  impersonal  attitude  toward  the  world — the 
attitude  of  an  emotionally  distinterested  but  intellectually  curi¬ 
ous  onlooker.  The  non-scientific  mind  usually  approaches  the 
world  with  the  thought,  ‘ ‘ How  is  this  going  to  affect  me?”  The 
objective  mind  is  intellective  and  relatively  unsentimental.  The 
subjective  mind  is  always  sentimental  (though  it  may  hide  the 
fact)  ;  it  may  be  intellective  and  rational,  but  only  to  a  degree 
and  within  limits  set  by  its  emotional  habits  and  predilections. 

The  popular  mind  is  unobservant.  It  does  not  use  its  senses ; 
they  are  relatively  untrained  and  unalert.  It  perceives  only 
that  part  of  the  world  to  which  its  routine  of  life  habituates 
it,  and  the  more  it  is  habituated  the  less,  even  of  that,  it  sees. 
In  saying  that  the  popular  mind  is  unsensitive,  we  use  the 
term  in  a  literal,  psychological  (even  physiological)  sense.  The 
average  individual  may  be  “thick-skinned”  or  he  may  be  so 
“sensitive”  that  his  feelings  are  hurt  at  every  turn.  This 
moral  or  emotional  sensitiveness  is  not  here  under  consideration. 
By  sensitiveness  we  mean  the  delicacy,  adaptability,  and  effi¬ 
ciency  of  the  five  senses  and  sense  organs,  as  agencies  which  put 
us  in  contact  with  the  world.  At  the  same  time  it  is  worthy  of 
remark  that  the  scientist  is  not  one  whose  feelings  arc  easily 
hurt;  he  has  to  take  as  well  as  give  criticism. 

There  is  a  close  connection  between  the  insensitivity  of  the 

17  Of  course,  in  ultimate  deterministic  analysis,  both  believe  what  they 
have  to  believe. 


224  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

popular  mind  and  its  lack  of  impersonal  curiosity.  The  scien¬ 
tific  mind  is  curious  about  phenomena,  whether  “natural”  or 
social.  The  popular  mind  is  curious  about  persons  and  their 
affairs — as  persons,  not  as  phenomena.  Much  of  this  personal 
curiosity  flows  from  sympathy;  not  a  little  of  it  contributes  to 
assuaging  the  pressure  of  inferiority  complexes.  Here  subjec¬ 
tive  interests  are  potent.  We  revel  in  scandal  and  gossip,  and 
enjoy  other  people’s  failures  and  defeats.  They  prove  to  us 
that  we  are  not  so  inferior  as  our  morbid  complexes  try  to  lead 
us  to  suppose. 

Scientific  attention  must  be  alert,  and  concentrated  upon 
the  particular  problems  in  hand.  When  the  problem  is  solved, 
or  in  the  interims  necessary  to  relaxation  and  recreation,  the 
attention  may  rove,  but  wherever  it  stops,  if  even  but  momen¬ 
tarily,  it  is  likely  to  be  penetrating.  Here,  it  must  be  confessed, 
we  are  at  the  threshold  of  one  of  the  most  difficult  and  puzzling 
problems  of  the  relation  of  science  to  culture.  Specialization 
and  concentration  of  attention  are  essential  to  scientific  achieve¬ 
ment.  This  is  the  day  of  the  specialist,  and  in  his  own  precinct 
he  is  master.  Outside  of  it,  however,  he  is  often,  lost,  and  he 
not  infrequently  exhibits  much  subjectivity  and  superficiality. 
Scientific  specialization  does  not  necessarily  produce  thoroughly 
scientific  minds.  To  relieve  us  in  some  measure  of  the  narrow¬ 
ing  effects  of  specialization,  we  need  to  insist  upon  a  broader 
cultural  training  for  our  oncoming  scientific  specialists,  and 
also  to  encourage  a  greater  amount  of  synthetic  scientific 
work. 

If  the  scientific  specialist  is  sometimes  unobservant  and  dis- 
tortedly  attentive  outside  of  his  own  field,  the  popular  mind,  a 
stranger  to  the  scientific  attitude  in  any  field,  usually  exhibits 
much  diffuseness,  vagueness,  and  uncertainty  of  attention.  This 
is  often  attributed  to  the  touch-and-go  character  of  our  news¬ 
papers;  but  that  is  probably  giving  them  more  discredit  than 
is  their  due.  The  popular  mind,  after  all,  bears  a  close  analogy 
to  the  scientific  specialist,  in  that  it  may  be  closely  and  sus- 
tainedly  attentive  to  the  matters  which,  so  far  as  it  is  aware, 
concern  it — usually  matters  of  business  and  vocational  interest. 
The  difference  lies  in  the  fact  that  even  in  these  fields,  its  atten¬ 
tion  is  not  objective,  but  subjectively  selective,  being  guided  by 
motives  of  personal  profit. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


225 


The  popular  mind  is  either  ignorant  or  insignificantly  in¬ 
formed.  When  a  committee  of  fifty  expert  engineers,  after 
months  of  investigation,  attribute  over  fifty  per  cent  of  the 
inefficiency  of  American  industry  to  defective  management,18 
there  is  basis  for  doubt  as  to  whether  the  American  business 
man  is  well-informed  concerning  even  his  own  immediate  inter¬ 
ests — unless  we  are  to  assume  that  business  prospers  on  ineffici¬ 
ency.  The  results  of  the  army  tests  during  the  war  do  not  give 
us  room  for  satisfaction  with  regard  to  the  mental  equipment  of 
the  population  at  large.  The  ease  with  which  demagogues  con¬ 
trol  large  portions  of  the  electorate,  the  interest  of  the  popu¬ 
lace  in  the  personalities  of  candidates,  their  comparative  lack  of 
interest  in  principles,  their  reluctance  to  consider  real  issues 
in  anything  like  an  open-minded,  objective,  and  constructive 
way,  their  sectionalism  and  localism,  their  toleration  of  a  con¬ 
trolled  press — these  and  many  other  evidences  might  be  cited  to 
support  this  point.  With  a  considerable  proportion  of  our  citi¬ 
zenry  eager  to  join  a  secret  and  irresponsible  organization  to 
“ uphold  law  and  order”  against  the  menaces  of  “bolshevism” 
and  Catholicism — even  in  districts  where  there  are  no  bolshev- 
ists  and  few  Catholics, — with  our  leading  automobile  manufac¬ 
turer  spending  good  money  to  spread  an  absurd  propaganda  to 
warn  us  against  impending  domination  by  our  Jewish  fellow 
citizens,  and  with  a  large  number  of  clergymen  and  congrega¬ 
tions  more  absorbed  in  Sabbath  observance  and  the  immodesty 
of  flappers1  dress  than  in  what  shall  be  done  to  rehabilitate 
Europe  or  promote  peace  between  labor  and  capital,  there  is 
perhaps  cause  for  doubt  about  the  functional  quality  of  our 
education.  Certainly  a  nation  whose  destinies  depend  upon  the 
intelligence  and  informedness  of  its  people,  under  a  universal 
franchise,  cannot  reasonably  look  into  the  future  with  great 
confidence,  if  it  squarely  faces  the  facts  with  regard  to  the 
present  mental  equipment  of  its  electorate. 

Lacking  in  power  of  attention,  and  ill-informed  (indeed,  often 
grossly  misinformed),  the  popular  mind  is  credulous,  sometimes 
to  a  ridiculous  degree.  This  is  one  thing  that  makes  the  propa¬ 
ganda  of  special  economic  interests  effective.  But  if  the  popular 


15  Federated  American  Engineering  Societies,  Report  on  Waste  in  In¬ 
dustry,  1921,  Ch.  2. 


226  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

mind  is  on  the  one  hand  adept  at  believing  what  it  wants  to 
believe,  it  has,  on  the  other,  the  corresponding  power  of  disbe¬ 
lief.  It  is  often  subjectively  skeptical.  This  subjective  skepti¬ 
cism — refusal  to  face  facts — is  at  the  bottom  of  our  incorrigible 
American  self-complacency,  unreasoning,  sentimental  optim¬ 
ism,  and  our  jingoistic  pride.  It  is  also  in  part  cause  why  there 
is  not  a  more  productive  and  constructive  give  and  take  of 
ideas  between  conservative  and  radical. 

To  say  that  a  person  is  credulous,  or  subjectively  skeptical,  is 
to  say  that  he  is  uncritical.  Let  it  be  remembered  that  a  critic 
is  one  who  is  able  to  discuss  profitably,  one  who  has  judgment 
and  discernment;  and  that  criticism  involves  appreciation  of 
good  as  well  as  bad  points  in  the  thing  criticized.  It  follows 
that  the  objective,  scientific  mind  should  have  the  best  critical 
capacity,  and  that  the  mind  dominated  by  subjective  biases  and 
personal  or  class  interests  has  the  least.  There  are  relatively 
few  able  critics  in  this  country;  there  are  a  few  criticasters — 
“ knockers” — who,  in  the  absence  of  fair  critics,  are  not  without 
value;  and  there  is  a  host  of  people  who  never  rouse  themselves 
out  of  their  habitual  acceptance  of  the  commonplace  as  the  ideal, 
further  than  is  necessary  to  damn  somebody  who  is  momentarily 
disturbing  their  intellectual  vacuity  and  moral  complacency. 

Victor  Cousin  said  that  “la  critique  est  la  vie  de  la  science — 
criticism  is  the  soul  of  science.”  It  is  that  and  more — it  is  the 
salvation  of  democracy.  And  perhaps  nowhere  in  the  world  is 
there  more  need  of  it  than  in  America  to-day — not  the  personal- 
istic  praise  and  blame  and  the  trite  dogmatisms  which  constitute 
the  stock-in-trade  of  the  ideo-motor  conservatives  and  radicals, 
but  the  criticism  which  is  a  calm,  informed,  and  objectively 
intelligent  ‘  ‘  sizing-up  ’  ’  of  the  various  elements  and  issues  in  our 
national  life. 

The  higher  type  of  popular  mind — common  in  the  clergy  and 
the  bar — falls  mainly  in  the  dogmatic-emotional  group.  This 
type,  as  we  saw,19  is  critical  of  logical  processes,  but  not  of  pre¬ 
mises.  It  is  useless  for  a  thoroughly  objective  and  critical  mind 
to  attempt  discussion  on  any  but  superficial  matters  with  a  dog¬ 
matic,  emotional  individual.  When  the  latter’s  premises  and 
postulates  are  questioned,  he  is  unable,  or  unwilling,  to  meet 


10  See  above,  p.  177. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


227 


criticism.  His  dogmatism  then  asserts  itself.  His  mind  has 
reached  its  closed  door,  over  which  is  written  ‘  1  thns  far,  and  no 
farther.”  Between  dogmatism  and  science  there  is  no  common 
meeting  ground;  between  two*  conflicting  dogmatisms  nothing 
but  war. 

That  we  are  not  only  lacking  in  critical  capacity  but  are 
grossly  intolerant,  in  this  country,  as  in  other  countries,  is 
sfiown  by  many  things,  but  most  of  all  by  the  unwillingness  or 
incapacity  of  the  popular  mind  to  stand  for,  or  to  consider, 
adverse  criticism.  With  a  certain  section  of  our  population, 
not  to  embrace  unquestioningly  all  the  dogmatic  emotionalism 
and  impatience  of  extreme  radicalism  is  to  be  considered  a  will¬ 
ing  vassal  of  reactionism;  with  a  very  large  proportion  of  the 
populace,  on  the  other  hand,  to  be  thoughtful,  open  minded, 
critical,  and  intellectually  honest  and  courageous  is  to  be  “  radi¬ 
cal,”  and  to  be  radical  is  to  be  a  “  bolshevik.  ”  Is  it  needful  to 
suggest  that  out  of  such  intolerance  neither  intellectual  honesty, 
moral  balance,  nor  democracy  can  emerge? 

The  tolerance  of  the  objective  mind  is  derived  from,  or  at 
least  intimately  associated  with,  its  intellectual  patience — its 
scientific  discipline  and  its  ability  to  suspend  judgment.  The 
intolerance  of  the  popular  mind  goes  with  its  lack  of  .intellectual 
discipline,  its  impatience,  and  its  limited  power  of  refraining 
from  judgment  when  it  has  not  the  necessary  data.  The  popular 
mind  jumps  at  conclusions,  and  is  restless  if  required  to  sus¬ 
pend  judgment.  It  cannot  bear  to  say  “I  do  not  know.” 

It  follows  that  cases  of  the  exercise  of  scientific  caution  are 
rare  in  the  popular  mind.  While  the  nearer  to  the  scientific 
ideal  a  mind  is,  the  more  cautious  it  is  in  drawing  anything  but 
hypothetical  generalizations,  unless  it  is  in  possession  of  all  the 
essential  data,  the  popular  mind  generalizes  on  evidence  of  the 
most  unreliable  kind,  both  as  to  amount  and  content,  and  often 
upon  the  most  tenuous  kind  of  hearsay.  This  lack  of  caution 
is  merely  a  specific  aspect  or  consequence  of  deficiency  in  critical 
capacity. 

Imagination  is  a  necessary  qualification  of  the  scientist  as  well 
as  the  inventor,  because  by  its  aid  are  formulated  the  work¬ 
ing  hypotheses  which  serve  as  guides  to  investigation.  In  the 
use  of  imagination  and  hypothesis,  scientists  differ;  some  exer¬ 
cise  extreme  care  and  will  not  allow  themselves  to  range  far 


228  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

beyond  established  fact ;  others  are  fertile  in  devising  hypotheses 
— possible  clues,  explanations,  and  solutions — which  may  aid  in¬ 
vestigation  through  a  process  of  elimination.  Each  hypothesis  is 
tested.  Many  fail,  but  one  may  be  found  which  points  the  way 
to  the  truth.  Science  thus  profits  by  disciplined  constructive 
imagination. 

The  imagination  of  the  popular  mind  is  more  in  the  nature 
of  fancy.  This  is  perhaps  truer  of  the  dreaming  type  of  ideal¬ 
istic  radical,  given  to  picturing  utopias.  The  imagination  of 
the  conservative,  as  we  saw,  is  more  the  product  of  fear.  The 
amount  of  human  suffering  caused  by  unfounded  fear  and 
worry  over  fanciful  dangers  is  beyond  computation.  At  the 
same  time  it  is  not  to  be  overlooked  that  a  large  proportion  of 
the  population  is  normally  in  a  state  of  mental  lethargy,  in 
which  neither  fancy  nor  active  fear-imagination  is  much  in 
evidence.  For  this  reason  a  great  deal  of  propaganda  is  devoted 
to  “ rousing  the  people”  to  this  or  that  impending  danger. 
Frequently  the  thing  is  overdone,  so  that  when  a  real  danger 
appears,  it  is  difficult  to  get  people  to  see  it. 

Another  result  of  fear  complexes  is  the  popular  attitude  to¬ 
ward  facts.  The  subjective  skepticism,  the  uncritical  quality 
of  the  popular  mind,  and  to  some  extent  its  ignorance  and 
intolerance,  are  geared  to  its  fear  of  facts.  We  saw  that  the 
scientific  attitude  is  marked  by  respect  for  fact,  and  that  scien¬ 
tific  caution  is  motivated  in  part  by  fear  that  all  the  facts  essen¬ 
tial  to  the  solution  of  a  given  problem  have  not  been  taken  into 
account.  The  scientist’s  respect  for  facts  is  founded  on  his 
well-learned  lesson  that  a  ‘ 1  nasty  little  fact  ’  ’  may  destroy  a  fine 
theory.  The  popular  fear  of  facts  has  a  similar  basis;  but 
whereas  the  scientist  is  afraid  his  theory  is  not  sound  and  so 
wants  to  know  the  destructive  fact  if  there  is  one,  the  popular 
mind  is  afraid  of  the  destructive  fact  and  tries  to  ignore  it 
because  it  wants  to  keep  the  theory.  So,  again,  we  find  fear 
and  dogmatism  associated. 

If  the  scientist  is  fearless  in  facing  facts,  he  is  also  courageous 
in  defending  his  convictions.  In  contrast,  the  popular  mind  is 
often  vacillating.  It  is  only  when  backed  by  authority  that  it 
shows  marked  courage.  When  an  individual  not  trained  to 
the  scientist’s  moral  standard  of  truth-seeking  has  special  inter¬ 
ests  of  his  own  at  stake,  he  may  make  rigorous  defense  of  those 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


229 


principles  which  he  believes  necessary  to  his  position ;  but  quite 
as  often  special  interest,  as  we  saw  in  the  discussion  of  interested 
conservatism,  causes  the  soft  pedal  to  be  applied.  Soft-pedalling 
may  be  tact,  and  it  may  be  pusillanimity. 

When  we  say  that  the  popular  mind  has  great  respect  for 
authority,  we  do  not  mean  the  authority  of  the  various  agencies 
of  social  control.  In  general  the  populace  is  law-abiding,  but 
there  are  lawless  elements  enough  in  it  to  render  untrue  a  too 
sweeping  generalization  as  to  popular  respect  for  authority  in 
either  the  legal  or  moral  sense.  What  we  have  in  mind  may  be 
called,  for  want  of  a  better  term,  intellectual  authority.  The 
ideo-motor  mind  is  frequently  impressed,  momentarily,  by  what 
it  cannot  understand.  The  dogmatic-emotional  mind  usually 
holds  to  a  sort  of  authoritarianism  which  may  be  called  an  apos¬ 
tolic  succession  of  intellectual  dogmas.  Join  this  succession,  or 
get  by  hook  or  crook  a  spectacular  prestige  with  the  hero-wor¬ 
shipping  public,  and  it  will  for  a  time  take  as  gospel  anything 
you  choose  to  tell  it — provided  you  are  reasonably  consistent 
and  take  care  to  make  your  statements  with  a  sufficient  air  of 
finality. 

The  scientist  has  no  particular  respect  for  .authority  as  such, 
and  none  for  the  extraneous  elements  of  prestige  which  often 
lift  a  charlatan  to  the  heights  of  authority  in  the  minds  of  the 
untrained  masses.  But  the  scientist  has  respect  for  the  real 
authority  of  scientific  intellectual  power  and  achievement.  The 
scientist  knows  how  to  evaluate  these  things,  at  least  in  his  own 
field.  The  opinions  and  conclusions  of  a  savant  are  justly  given 
more  weight  than  those  of  a  comparatively  unknown  man ;  but 
they  are  not  accepted  without  verification.  No  scientist  accepts 
the  untested  conclusions  of  another,  no  matter  how  prominent. 
And  in  spite  of  delays,  and  occasional  failure  of  recognition,  the 
work,  if  sound,  of  the  obscure  investigator  is  ultimately  incor¬ 
porated  into  the  body  of  scientific  data  which  form  the  basis  of 
further  research.  The  fact  that  scientists  sometimes  exhibit  too 
great  conservatism — sometimes  even  disregard  and  contempt, 
without  hearing — with  regard  to  new  theories  advanced  by 
relatively  obscure  newcomers  should  not  blind  us  to  the  general 
truth  that  the  scientific  attitude  involves  a  critical  and  dis¬ 
criminative  respect  for  scientific  authority.  This  is  inevitable. 
Otherwise  each  new  scientific  investigator  would  have  to  begin  at 


230  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

the  beginning,  taking  nothing — even  the  principles  of  elemen¬ 
tary  mathematics — as  established. 

Now  it  is  just  this  critical  and  discriminative  respect  which 
we  find  lacking  in  the  popular  mind.  On  the  one  hand  the 
populace  may  be  emotionally  loyal  to  dogmas  and  prestige;  it 
usually  has  a  profound  desire  to  conform  to  standards  of  “re¬ 
spectability”;  and  because  of  its  ignorant  and  undiscriminating 
respect  for  impressiveness,  it  falls  prey  to  much  foolishness 
masquerading  as  “science.”  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  charac¬ 
terized  by  a  sort  of  Jacksonian  contempt  for  real  scientific 
capacity  and  expert  advice,  a  fact  which  bodes  ill  for  the  future 
honesty  and  efficiency  of  democracy.  Americans  have  been  vic¬ 
tims  of  this  weakness,  both  in  their  political  and  economic 
policies,  just  as  the  Germans  reaped  at  the  other  extreme  the 
tragic  fruits  of  a  too  implicit  faith  in  the  disinterestedness  of 
their  expert  officials.  Not  until  recently  did  the  American  popu¬ 
lace  manifest  any  willingness  whatever  to  listen  to  the  trained 
economist  or  political  scientist.  As  this  is  being  written,  a  com¬ 
mission  is  sitting  in  a  town  not  far  distant  to  revise  its  municipal 
charter.  Of  the  twelve  members  of  the  commission,  only  two 
or  three  have  any  practical  experience  in  municipal  administra¬ 
tion.  One  member  is  one  of  the  country’s  recognized  scientific 
students  of  municipal  government,  an  expert  authority  on  the 
subject,  but  he  is  a  minority  of  one,  and  without  practical  influ¬ 
ence  on  the  commission.20  Obviously  not  all  of  us  can  be  experts 
on  city  government.  The  judgment  of  those  who  are  should 
have  weight.  How  to  get  the  populace  to  accept,  or  at  least  to 
heed,  the  advice  of  experts  is  not  the  least  difficult  of  the  prob¬ 
lems  of  political  democracy. 

The  fact  is  that  the  popular  mind  is  slavishly  conservative  and 
conventional,  and  deficient  in  intellectual  originality  and  indi¬ 
viduality.  This  again  is  partly  the  result  of  fear.  The  popular 
mind  is  afraid  of  revealing  its  ignorance.  The  scientist  knows 
that  only  by  frankly  recognizing  and  admitting  his  ignorance, 
where  he  is  ignorant,  can  he  keep  on  the  road  to  truth. 

The  reluctance  of  the  average*  citizen  to  listen  to  expert  advice 
on  public  affairs  is  also  due  in  part  to  the  egotistical  quality  of 
the  popular  mind.  This  quality  is  by  no  means  the  lowest  jn 


20  This  member  later  resigned. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


231 


significance  of  the  characteristics  of  the  unscientific  attitude. 
If  one  witnesses  the  quarrels  among  specialized  scientists  for 
“ credit”  and  “priority  of  discovery/’  however,  one  may  con¬ 
clude  that  scientists,  too,  are  not  always  characterized  by  a 
retiring  modesty,  and  that  the  popular  mind  has  no  monopoly 
on  egotism.  That  is  true  in  a  sense,  but  to  the  extent  that  an 
individual  is  egotistic  it  is  fair  to  say  that  he  falls  short  of  the 
ideal  scientific  attitude. 

At  bottom  the  difference  between  the  scientific  mind  and  the 
unscientific  lies  in  their  respective  attitudes  toward  the  self  and 
the  world.  The  non-scientific  person,  no  matter  how  timid  and 
modest  he  may  appear  on  the  surface  to  be,  is  commonly  an  ego¬ 
tist.  That  is,  his  intellectual  conception  of  the  world  is  colored 
by  a  certain  egotistical  attachment  to  his  own  experience  and 
his  own  ideas,  sentiments,  loyalties,  etc.,  no  matter  how  limited, 
as  somehow  more  valid,  truer,  and  more  authoritative,  than  any 
one’s  else.  This  egotism  may,  of  course,  in  some  persons  be  a 
sort  of  vicarious  self-esteem,  reflected  from  their  attachment  to 
some  authority,  personal  or  traditional,  which  has  impressive 
prestige.  It  may  also  to  a  certain  extent  be  a  combination  of 
inferiority  complexes  with  the  “equality”  idea  fostered  by  our 
crude  conception  of  democracy.  With  the  subconscious  knowl¬ 
edge  that  his  own  opinion,  not  being  based  on  objective  knowl¬ 
edge,  is  vulnerable,  the  individual  attempts  to  compensate  for 
his  intellectual  insecurity  by  personal  bumptiousness. 

This  fact  of  attachment  to  one’s  own  ideas,  opinions,  and 
beliefs,  as  better,  by  the  simple  fact  that  they  are  regarded  as 
one’s  own  (however  completely  the  result  of  borrowing  and 
imitation),  than  the  next  man’s,  brings  us  back  to  our  starting 
point — the  contrast  between  the  objectivity  of  the  scientific,  and 
the  subjectivity  of  the  popular,  mind.  But  we  may  now  sense 
the  fact  that  subjective  bias  is  not  based  alone  on  material 
interests,  but  alsa  on  egotisms  very  deeply  seated  in  human 
temperament. 

The  final  proof  and, expression! fof  th (^subjectivity  of  the  popu¬ 
lar  mind  is  its  belief  in  free  will,  in  personalistic  whim  in  nature, 
and  its  constant  gravitation  toward  praise  and  blame  of  what 
it  likes  and  dislikes.  The  popular  mind  may  be  in  many  respects 
a  shrewd  “judge  of  human  nature,”  and  consequently  may  bo 
adept  at  political  manipulation.  But  of  that  disinterested 


232  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

objectivity  of  observation  which  characterizes  the  scientific 
psychologist  it  has  little. 

If  we  turn  back  a  moment  to  the  characteristics  of  the  conserv¬ 
ative  and  the  radical  minds  respectively,  we  shall  now  sense  anew 
the  significance  of  many  of  the  subjective  traits  there  noted.  In 
the  case  of  the  disinterested  conservative  it  is  easy  to  see  that 
his  attachment  to  things-as-they-are  (habituation),  his  fear  of 
the  new  and  the  unfamiliar,  his  loyalties  and  pride,  and  his 
exaggerated  valuation  of  the  past  can  hardly  fail  to  prevent  his 
mental  processes  attaining  to  the  scientific  level.  It  is  equally 
plain  that  the  attitude  and  methods  of  interested  conservatism 
are  diametrically  opposed  to  the  scientific  spirit,  and  thoroughly 
incompatible  with  it.  Just  as  soon  as  science  becomes  the  hand¬ 
maiden  to  apologetics  of  any  kind  it  stands  in  imminent  peril 
of  ceasing  to  be  science  and  becoming  propaganda.  The  impa¬ 
tience  of  the  radical,  his  sentimentalizing,  his  proclivity  for  the 
new  simply  because  it  is  new,  his  jumping  to  conclusions,  and 
his  espousal  of  programs  without  investigation  of  their  probable 
unforeseen  and  complicated  effects — these  and  other  traits  make 
it  improbable  that  the  scientific  spirit  will  frequently  be  met 
with  in  radical  ranks,  though  it  is  likely  to  be  as  common  there 
as  among  conservatives.  In  both  conservative  and  radical,  traits 
like  intolerance,  combat  attitudes,  emotionalism,  and  the  cling¬ 
ing  to  ideologies  (like  eighteenth  century  individualism  or  Marx¬ 
ian  socialism),  are  distinctive  factors. 

Experience  shows  that  a  people  may  manage  to  survive  and 
even  attain  a  certain  degree  of  cultural  development  without 
acquiring  a  great  amount  of  objective  knowledge  of  the  world. 
Most  of  the  history  of  the  race,  in  fact,  has  been  lived  on  a  com¬ 
posite  basis  of  instinct,  sentiment,  and  illusion.  The  amount 
of  illusion  still  prevalent  is,  from  the  objective  scientific  point 
of  view,  interesting,  to  say  the  least;  from  the  moral  point  of 
view  (if  truth  has  anything  to  do  with  morality)  it  is  appalling. 

But  of  this  you  cannot  readily  convince  the  popular  mind — 
any  more  than  you  could  persuade  a  flounder  that  the  sea  has 
more  than  two  dimensions.  Popular-minded  cocksureness  in 
the  validity  of  its  ideologies  and  illusions  rests  upon  the  fallacy 
that  “we  know  social  reality  because  we  live  in  it” — the  idea 
that  we  have  a  right  to  generalize,  without  special  and  thorough 
investigation,  on  the  basis  of  “common  sense.”  The  fallacy  of 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


233 


this  practice  lies,  as  Thomas  has  pointed  out,  in  the  limitation 
and  subjectively  selective  nature  of  any  one  individual's  experi¬ 
ence.  “The  individual's  sphere  of  practical  acquaintance  with 
social  reality  ...  is  always  limited  and  constitutes  only  a 
small  part  of  the  whole  complexity  of  social  facts."  In  addi¬ 
tion  to  this  “exterior  limitation"  there  is  an  interior  one,  “still 
more  important,  due  to  the  fact  that  among  all  experiences 
which  an  individual  meets  .  .  .  perhaps  the  larger  part  is  left 
unheeded,  never  becoming  a  basis  of  common-sense  generaliza¬ 
tions." 

The  popular  selection  of  experience  for  attention  and  gener¬ 
alizations,  as  Thomas  goes  on  to  state,  is  thus  subjective — “valid 
only  for  this  particular  individual  in  this  particular  social  posi¬ 
tion" — and  therefore  “quite  different  from,  and  incommensur¬ 
able  with  the  selection  which  a  scientist  would  make  in  face  of 
the  same  body  of  data  from  an  objective,  impersonal  view¬ 
point.  ’ ' 21  The  application  of  this  analysis  in  estimating  the 
probable  objectivity  of  conservative  or  radical  should  be  evi¬ 
dent.  The  conservative's  habituation  to  the  status  quo  pre¬ 
cludes  the  ability  to  observe  objectively  or  to  analyze  critically 
the  things  he  takes  so  completely  for  granted.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  radical’s  consciousness  of  desire-obstruction  causes 
him  to  select  for  criticism  and  attack  only  certain  elements  of  a 
situation,  which  means  that  its  complexity  as  a  whole  is  likely 
to  escape  him. 

This  brings  us  to  the  question  noted  above  22  concerning  pos¬ 
sible  subjective  difficulties  which  may  be  encountered  by  the 
scientific  investigator  in  his  own  mental  makeup.  While  the 
characteristics  of  the  popular  mind  are  far  and  away  the  most 
extensive  and  troublesome  of  the  obstacles  to  scientific  method, 
they  are  not  the  only  subjective  factors  which  have  to  be  taken 
into  consideration. 

No  mind  can  be  completely  scientific,  and  no  human  individual 
has  ever  reached  the  ideal  of  the  critically  intellectual  mind. 
But  individuals  do,  and  will,  differ  in  the  nearness  of  their 
approach  to  this  ideal.  What  we  call,  for  practical  purposes, 
the  scientific  or  the  critically  intellectual  minds,  approach  it 

21 W.  I.  Thomas  and  F.  Znaniecki,  The  Polish  Peasant  in  Europe  and 
America,  1918,  Vol.  I,  Methodological  Note,  pp.  4,  5. 

22  Page  220. 


234  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

more  or  less  closely.  Nevertheless,  such  a  mind  has  tendencies 
of  its  own  to  bias  and  subjectivity  which  must  also  be  guarded 
against.  Even  the  astronomer  has  to  make  allowance  for  the 
“personal  equation”  in  his  own  field — e.g.,  for  the  reaction 
time  of  the  observer  in  recording  the  time  of  the  passage  of 
a  star  over  the  wire  of  a  transit  telescope. 

These  subjective  factors,  from  which  the  most  objective  actual 
mind  is  not  entirely  free,  flow  from  a  variety  of  sources.  Where 
human  relations  are  under  investigation,  the  chief  of  these  are 
interest  conflicts,  class  association,  sympathy  and  antipathy, 
ingrained  moral  habits,  and  egotism — pride  in  priority  and 
desire  for  credit  and  personal  prestige  in  the  scientific  field. 
The  last-mentioned  factor  is  by  no  means  the  least  of  the  actual 
motives  active  in  scientific  work.  Interest  conflicts,  and  sus¬ 
ceptibility  to  some  influence  from  the  prevalent  conflict  psychol¬ 
ogy,  no  one  can  entirely  escape.  Class  bias  also  is  exceedingly 
difficult  to  avoid — if  not  bias  with  respect  to  the  industrial  class 
conflict,  at  least  that  which  results  from  the  relative  isolation  of 
the  intellectual,  with  others  of  his  kind,  from  the  much  larger 
popular  group. 

As  to  the  role  played  by  sympathy,  some  difficult  questions 
arise.  In  scientific  investigation  in  the  physical  and  biological 
sciences  sympathy  has  no  function.  If  it  does  creep  in — as,  for 
instance,  in  comparative  psychology,  where  the  investigator  may 
be  tempted  to  read  his  own  reactions,  emotional  or  otherwise, 
into  those  of  the  animal  under  observation — it  can  only  vitiate 
the  objectivity  and  the  truth  of  the  conclusions  reached.23  Such 
a  slip  is  only  a  case  of  belated  anthropomorphism. 

In  research  having  to  do  with  social  facts  the  matter  stands 
on  a  different  footing.  Social  facts  are  human  facts,  and  to 
observe  human  facts  most  fruitfully  the  observer  cannot  confine 
himself  to  external  indications. 

There  is  scarcely  a  department  of  social  science,  economics, 
jurisprudence,  social  psychology  or  what  not,  in  which  investi¬ 
gation  of  social  organization  and  social  process  does  not  involve, 
or  at  any  rate  ought  not  to  involve,  a  study  of  motives.  For 
motives  are  to  be  regarded  both  as  immediate  (though  not  sole) 

23  Oooley,  Principles  of  Science,  1912,  p.  60,  says  that  it  is  “not  improper 
to  interpret  animal  intelligence  by  human  when  proper  allowances  are 
made,” — but  what  are  the  proper  allowances? 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


235 


causes  of  actions  and  as  links  in  the  stream  or  nexus  of  the 
general  mechanistic  causation  of  social  phenomena.  Hence  it 
is  important  to  get  at  the  real  motives,  and  observe  them.  The 
alleged  motives,  the  motives  which  the  “cold-blooded”  investi¬ 
gator  may  infer  from  surface  phenomena,  or  the  motives  which 
the  actor  conscientiously  believes  and  asserts  to  be  his  real 
motives,  may  not  be  the  real  motives  at  all.  However  skeptical 
we  may  be  of  the  method  and  specific  findings  of  the  psycho¬ 
analysts  it  will  probably  be  generally  conceded  that  they  have 
thrown  much  light  on  the  lack  of  correspondence  between 
alleged  and  actual  motives. 

Now,  as  is  abundantly  illustrated  in  the  methods  and  results 
of  psychopathology,  it  is  continuously  necessary  for  an  investi¬ 
gator  to  gain  and  keep  the  confidence  of  his  patient,  by  con¬ 
vincing  him  of  his  disinterested  sympathy,  and  through  ability 
to  put  himself  in  the  patient ’s  place  and  reconstruct  the 
patient’s  experience,  both  conscious  and  unconscious.  If  this 
is  necessary  in  the  study  of  abnormal  cases,  there  is  no  reason 
to  suppose  that  it  is  not  equally  essential  to  an  understanding 
of  the  experience  and  the  motivation  of  normal  individuals. 

Sympathy,  in  fact,  far  from  being  something  to  be  eschewed, 
is  an  indispensable  part  of  the  investigational  equipment  of  the 
truly  objective  student  of  social  phenomena.  In  the  first  place, 
as  just  intimated,  sympathy  is  a  prerequisite  to  confidence,  and 
confidence  is  essential  to  the  securing  of  true  evidence.  And 
secondly,  sympathy  is  necessary  as  an  aid  to  understanding, 
through  vicarious  realization,  the  experiences  of  others  perhaps 
situated  very  differently  from  ourselves  in  the  economic,  social, 
and  intellectual  scale.  In  this  latter  sense  sympathy  partakes 
somewhat  of  the  functions  of  the  constructive  imagination  of 
the  natural  scientist. 

An  infinite  amount  of  misunderstanding  between  classes, 
races,  and  the  sexes,  and  of  illusion,  error,  misrepresentation, 
and  fanaticism,  would  have  been  avoided,  had  persons  who  pre¬ 
sumed  to  express  opinions  or  to  present  conclusions  on  social 
problems  and  issues  had  the  grace  of  this  capacity — merely  the 
gift  to  look  at  the  situation  from  the  standpoint  of  the  other 
fellow  as  well  as  their  own. 

It  might  be  objected  at  this  point  that  what  is  here  stated  to 
be  the  function  of  sympathy  in  scientific  social  investigation. 


236  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

especially  investigation  involving  evaluation  of  motives,  is  not 
in  accord  with  the  behavioristic  or  mechanistic  trend  of  present- 
day  psychology.  Such  objection  would  not  be  well  taken,  how¬ 
ever,  because  the  investigator  who  knows  the  most  about  the 
mechanism  of  human  behavior  and  human  attitudes  is  most 
likely  to  be  able  to  put  himself  intelligently  and  interpretatively 
in  the  other  fellow’s  place  and  to  reach  a  true  and  objective 
understanding  of  his  behavior.  Behaviorism  is  strictly  deter¬ 
ministic,  as  all  true  science  must  be,  and  determinism  does  rule 
out  of  court  praise  and  blame  and  subjective  or  affectional  sym¬ 
pathies  and  antipathies.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  a  great  aid 
to  the  objective  sympathy  of  which  we  have  been  speaking. 

As  a  tragic  illustration  of  the  failure  which  may  result  from 
the  absence  of  this  objective  sympathy  and  from  the  presence 
of  subjective,  emotional  antipathy,  we  may  take  the  impossible 
Versailles  treaty.  From  the  array  of  geographical,  economic, 
financial,  and  other  experts  gathered  in  Paris  it  was  reasonable 
to  suppose  that  the  Peace  Conference  would  result  in  a  treaty 
which  would  not  only  be  enforceable  but  which  would  not  ex¬ 
acerbate  old  antagonisms.  But  scientific  objectivity  went  down 
under  the  pressure  of  ingrained  emotional  antipathies.  On  the 
other  hand,  an  outstanding  example  of  the  clearing  of  the  intel¬ 
lectual  atmosphere  resultant  upon  objective  sympathy,  or  the 
capacity  to  look  at  the  situation  from  the  point  of  view  of  each 
of  the  interested  parties,  is  to  be  found  in  the  two  well-known 
essays  of  John  Maynard  Keynes.24 

It  should  go  without  saying  that  the  sympathy  which  it  is 
here  held  is  an  essential  aid  in  understanding  human  motives 
has  nothing  in  common  with  maudlin  sentiment.  Just  as  much 
as  combative  antipathy,  must  sympathy  in  the  sense  of  pity  be 
rigidly  excluded  from  scientific  method.  It  is  perhaps  a  failure 
to  distinguish  between  two  types  of  sympathy,  the  intellectual 
or  objective  and  the  affectional,  which  accounts  for  the  idea  that 
sympathy  cannot  be  an  element  in  scientific  procedure.  It  also 
explains  why  some  social  research  falls  short  of  truth — the 
investigator  either  did  not  put  himself  in  the  other  fellow’s 
place  at  all  or,  on  the  other  hand,  put  himself  there  altogether 
too  much,  crediting  him  with  what  would  have  been  his  own 

24  The  Economic  Consequences  of  the  Peace,  1920,  and  A  Revision  of 
the  Treaty,  1922. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


237 


emotions  and  motives  under  the  circumstances.  It  would  be 
difficult  to  say  which  is  more  detrimental  to  objectivity,  a  total 
lack  of  sympathy,  or  the  presence  of  sentimentalism.  It  is  clear, 
however,  that  the  social  scientist  is  called  upon  to  steer  a  careful, 
circumspect  course  between  these  two  defects  of  attitude. 

We  come  now  to  our  second  problem :  Can  a  scientific  inquiry 
be  instituted  with  reform  as  its  motive?  Can  ethical  considera¬ 
tions  be  permitted  to  enter  into  the  motivation  of  social  research, 
if  that  research  is  to  merit  the  name  of  science  ? 

The  answer  to  these  questions  depends  upon  what  we  agree 
to  mean  by  them.  It  is  entirely  permissible  to  hold  that  ideally 
all  scientific  inquiry  should  be  initiated  and  carried  through  in 
obedience  to  no  other  motive  than  the  desire  to  know  the  truth. 
It  should  be  a  search  for  truth  and  nothing  more.  Truth,  yes — 
but  what  truth?  Had  we  no  utilitarian  needs,  no  social  prob¬ 
lems  demanding  early  solution,  and  yet  waiting  for  that  solu¬ 
tion  upon  the  carrying  out  of  the  requisite  scientific  investiga¬ 
tions,  the  answer  would  be  “Any  truth.”  One  truth  or  scien¬ 
tific  generalization,  whatever  its  subject  matter,  would  be  as 
good  as  any  other.  But  practically  and  actually,  the  solution 
of  many  pressing  technological  and  social  problems  at  the  earli¬ 
est  possible  moment  is  desirable,  if  not  essential  to  the  preserva¬ 
tion  of  our  civilization.  These  are  the  problems  to  which,  it 
will  hardly  be  questioned,  the  social  scientist  should  devote 
his  main  efforts.  This  is  not  saying  that  he  may  not  have  to  go 
far  back  in  his  investigation  to  fundamental  determinants, 
which  the  popular  mind  would  pronounce  useless.  Economy  of 
effort  and  of  utilization  of  our  limited  amount  of  developed 
scientific  capacity  demands  that  scientific  research  shall  be 
directed  in  the  main  to  lines  of  inquiry  which  give  most  prom¬ 
ise  of  yielding  results  of  value  for  the  practical  solution  of  actual 
problems  and  issues. 

This  does  not  mean  that  the  decision  as  to  what  is  important 
as  a  “practical  problem”  is  to  be  left  to  the  superficial  popular 
mind.  The  objective  scientist  will  have  something  to  say  as  to 
the  relative  importance  of  the  matters  calling  for  investiga¬ 
tion. 

Most,  if  not  all,  of  the  social  problems  upon  which  we  need 
scientific  knowledge  and  judgment  are  problems  involving  con¬ 
flicts  of  interest  and  viewpoint,  of  sentiment  and  popular  judg- 


238  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

ment,  and  of  norms  of  conduct.  Different  groups,  which  will 
be  affected  in  diverse  ways  by  a  given  reform  or  attempted  solu¬ 
tion  of  an  issue,  hold  to  quite  different  standards  of  conduct, 
of  justice,  and  of  expediency.  Usually  so  intense  is  special 
interest  that  each  group  welcomes  any  investigation  which  takes 
as  its  starting  point  and  premise  the  particular  norm  held  high 
in  the  estimation  of  the  group,  and  which  accordingly  will  come 
out  with  the  thing  it  started  with — reasons  for  supporting  the 
policy  and  attitude  of  the  group.  The  W.  C.  T.  U.,  for  in¬ 
stance,  has  always  been  able  to  find  ‘  ‘  scientific ’  ’  reasons  why 
the  sale  of  cigarettes  should  be  forbidden. 

Now  it  should  be  clear  without  extended  argument  that  the 
scientist  cannot  lend  himself  to  any  such  procedure  in  investi¬ 
gation.  He  can  discover  and  state  the  existing  objective  facts 
(providing  they  do  not  entail  classifications  which  cannot  be 
made,  because  of  lack  of  objective  definition)  and  can  say,  in 
effect,  “such  and  such  results  would  probably  flow  from  your 
proposed  reform.  ”  Further  than  that  he  can  go  only  in  excep¬ 
tional  cases. 

The  approach  to  theoretical  problems  from  the  point  of  view 
of  desirability  and  undesirability  is  criticized  by  Thomas,25  in, 
his  able  “Methodological  Note.”  This  approach,  he  thinks,  is 
the  usual  one  in  “practical”  sociology. 

‘  ‘  The  norm  may  be  intrinsic  to  the  reality,  as  when  it  is  pre¬ 
sumed  that  the  actually  prevailing  or  customary  state  of  things 
is  normal  [e.g.,  the  conservative’s  habituation  to  things-as-tliey 
are?];  or  it  may  be  extrinsic,  as  when  moral,  religious,  or 
aesthetic  standards  are  applied  to  social  reality  and  the  pre¬ 
vailing  state  of  things  is  found  in  disaccord  with  the  norm, 
and  in  so  far  abnormal.  ’  ’ 26 

This  procedure,  as  he  shows,  leads  to  biased  and  unscientific 
selection  of  some  of  the  facts  and  deprives  us  of  opportunity  to 
study  all  the  facts  in  connection  with  one  another,  which  is  the 
only  connection  in  which  their  study  can  be  scientifically  valid. 
Moreover,  it  is  patent  that  “when  the  norm  is  not  the  result 
but  the  starting-point  of  the  investigation,  .  .  .  every  practical 
custom  or  habit,  every  moral,  political,  religious  view,  claims 

25  W.  I.  Thomas  and  F.  Znaniecki,  The  Polish  Peasant  in  Europe  and 
America,  1918,  Vol.  I,  pp.  7-10. 

26  Op.  cit.,  p.  8. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  239 

to  be  the  norm  and  to  treat  as  abnormal  whatever  does  not  agree 
with  it.”  27 

From  these  considerations  Thomas  concludes  (1)  that  “from 
the  method  of  the  study  itself  all  practical  considerations  must 
be  excluded  if  we  want  the  results  to  be  valid,”  and  (2)  that 
“as  soon  as  the  investigation  is  started  both  indignation  and 
idealism  should  be  put  aside.”28 

All  this  is  clear  and  sound,  and  we  can  have  no  quarrel  with 
it.  The  results  of  starting  with  norms  and  of  measuring  every¬ 
thing  by  them  during  the  investigation  have  been  abundantly 
indicated  in  our  analysis  of  the  conservative  and  radical  atti¬ 
tudes.  When  an  investigation  is  once  started ,  scientific  objec¬ 
tivity — mere  honesty — -demands  that  we  “hew  to  the  line,  let 
the  chips  fall  where  they  will.  ’  ’  But  this  is  not  saying  that  the 
initiation  of  a  piece  of  social  investigation  may  not  legitimately 
be  made  from  motives  of  ethical  interest.  Nor  it  is  saying  that 
a  scientific  psychology  cannot  enable  us  to  distinguish  between 
good  and  bad  norms.29 

Let  us  take  just  one  illustration.  For  a  hundred  years  or 
more  economists  have  been  writing  about  the  distribution  of 
wealth,  but  among  the  hundreds  of  volumes  written  on  this  sub¬ 
ject,  only  a  mere  handful  have  made  any  attempt  to  discuss 
the  actual  distribution  of  wealth — that  is,  to  present  the  facts 
before  proceeding  to  theoretical  generalization  as  to  the  forces 
which  determine  distribution.  Then  came  the  advent  of  the 
early  socialist  doctrine  of  increasing  misery  (the  assertion  that 
the  rich  were  getting  richer  and  the  poor  poorer).  When  that 
theory  was  shown  to  be  too  little  in  accord  with  facts  so  far  as 
the  poor  were  concerned,  and  it  was  replaced  by  the  introduc¬ 
tion  of  the  later  doctrine  of  “comparative  poverty”  (the  asser¬ 
tion  that  while  the  poor  are  gradually  becoming  a  little  better 
off,  the  rich  are  getting  richer  so  fast  that  the  gulf  between  the 
two  is  rapidly  widening),  the  whole  question  of  distribution 
ceased  to  be  merely  academic  and  became  a  real  issue.  The 
patent  massing  of  large  fortunes,  with  their  power  in  finance 
and  politics,  made  it  a  very  important  issue.  Nevertheless, 
practically  all  the  economic  theorists  continued  to  publish  elabo- 

27  Ibid.,  p.  9. 

28  Ibid.,  pp.  7,  8. 

29  See  Chapter  X. 


240  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

rate  deductive  disquisitions  on  why  distribution  must  be  thus 
and  so,  and  ought  to  be  either  thus  and  so  or  so  and  thus.  The 
few  statistical  studies  or  indications  undertaken,  mostly  by  for¬ 
eign  students  and  based  on  foreign  data,  received  scant  atten¬ 
tion  from  American  economists.  It  is  only  fair  to  state  that 
this  neglect  was  due  mainly,  perhaps,  to  the  fact  that  in  the 
United  States  we  had  no  ready  data  for  anything  more  than 
the  roughest  guesses  as  to  the  distribution  of  income,  until  the 
Federal  government,  pursuant  to  the  income  tax  law  of  1913, 
began  to  require  reports  of  incomes  from  all  persons  receiving 
over  $4000  if  married  and  $2000  if  single.50  The  returns  threw 
a  flood  of  light  on  the  distribution  of  income  in  this  country. 
Still  it  remained  true  that  there  were  no  direct,  and  but  one 
outstanding  attempt 31  to  analyze  the  indirect,  data  bearing  on 
the  amount  of  our  national  income  going  to  wages,  profits, 
interest,  and  rent  respectively.  Recently,  however,  there  has 
been  a  growing  tendency  to  factual  investigation  of  income 
distribution  in  the  United  States.  Objective  research,  as  scien¬ 
tifically  accurate  as  the  available  statistical  data  permit,  has 
been  carried  through  by  the  Bureau  of  Economic  Research,32 
so  that  we  now  have  much  needed,  if  not  yet  wholly  adequate, 
information  as  to  the  actual  distribution  of  income  in  this 
country. 

For  this  we  have  to  thank  the  scientific  objectivity  and  ex¬ 
pertness  of  certain  investigators ;  for  their  impulse  to  undertake 
this  difficult  task,  we  have  to  thank,  mainly,  the  circumstances 
that  made  the  whole  matter  a  real  ethical  and  political  issue. 
In  other  words,  the  motive  to  the  investigation  was  doubtless  an 
ethical  impulse — the  desire  to  give  to  the  thinking  public  essen¬ 
tial  information  with  regard  to  the  facts  of  distribution,  to  the 
end  that  discussion  and  policies  in  regard  to  it  could  be  taken 
out  of  the  realm  of  surmise  and  dogmatic  assertion. 


30  In  1917,  the  limits  were  made  $2,000  and  $1,000. 

31  W.  I.  King,  The  Wealth  and,  Income  of  the  People  of  the  United 
States,  1915.  See  also  G.  P.  Watkins,  “Growth  of  Large  Fortunes,” 
Publications  of  the  American  Economic  Association,  3d  Series,  Vol.  VIII, 
No.  4,  1907 ;  David  Friday,  Profits,  Wages  and  Prices,  1920. 

32  Wesley  C.  Mitchell,  Frederick  R.  Macaulay,  Wilford  I.  King,  and 
Oswald  W.  Knauth,  Income  in  the  United  States,  Its  Amount >  and  Dis¬ 
tribution,  1909-1919,  Vol.  I,  Summary,  1921.  See  also  Walter  R.  Ingalls, 
Wealth  and  Income  of  the  American  People,  1922.; 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


241 


This  example  is  sufficient  to  illustrate,  though  not  to  prove, 
our  point  that  scientific  social  research  is  now  chiefly  motivated 
by  some  initial  ethical  interest.  It  also  illustrates  what  should 
be  the  function  of  science  in  relation  to  the  solution,  or  at  least 
the  rationalization,  of  conflicts  of  social  interests,  economic  or 
other.  The  economists  and  statisticians  who  carried  through 
this  investigation  into  the  actual  distribution  of  income  in  the 
United  States  doubtless  had  some  opinions  as  to  the  desirability 
or  undesirability  of  an  alteration  in  income  distribution,  but 
they  have  kept  their  opinions  to  themselves.  They  say  in  effect : 
“Here  are  the  facts;  after  considering  them  fairly  and  frankly, 
take  what  measures  you  deem  necessary  or  advisable;  but  don’t 
neglect  the  facts.”  In  this  way,  they  avoid  the  assumption  of 
a  specific  “norm” — to  which  assumption  Thomas  rightly  objects. 

In  summary.  We  have  tried  to  establish  the  proposition  that 
from  the  nature  of  the  data  he  has  to  work  with,  the  social  scien¬ 
tist,  and  we  should  say  especially  the  social  psychologist,  can¬ 
not  dispense  with  objective  sympathy  as  an  aid  to  observation 
and  interpretation.  He  must  be  careful,  however,  to  distinguish 
clearly  between  the  type  of  sympathy  which  enables  him  to 
understand  the  motivation  of  other  people,  and  the  sentimental 
type  of  sympathy  which  will  lead  him  to  substitute  his  own 
reactions  for  those  of  the  persons  under  investigation  and  bring 
it  to  pass  that  he  does  not  get  their  motives  and  point  of  view. 
With  regard  to  the  permissibility  of  ethical  motivation  to  social 
research  we  arrive  at  substantially  the  following  conclusion: 
in  practice,  ethical  interest  is  properly  a  prime  motive  in  the 
initiation  of  scientific  inquiry ;  but  while  the  social  scientist  may 
be  motivated  by  an  ethical  interest,  e.g.,  desire  to  see  what  valid 
objective  evidence  there  may  be  both  for  and  against  a  given 
proposed  reform,  he  must  lay  aside,  during  the  investigation, 
any  leanings  of  this  kind  which  he  may  have  had.  If  he  cannot 
do  this  he  is  not  a  scientist,  and  his  conclusions  will  probably 
be  defective  in  objectivity.  Lacking  in  that,  they  will  be  de¬ 
ficient  in  practical  applicability  to  the  rationalization  of  interest 
conflicts. 

We  must  now  turn  from  the  dangers  of  subjective  bias  to 
which  the  actual  (not  the  ideal)  scientific  mind  is  exposed,  to 
a  consideration  of  the  difficulties  scientific  investigation  of 
social  phenomena  would  encounter  even  if  every  investigator 


242  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

were  totally  free  from  subjective  interests  and  biases  of  any 
kind.  This  subject  is  an  extensive  one,  and  we  can  here  con¬ 
sider  only  its  main  outlines. 

The  first  difficulty  lies  in  the  magnitude  and  complexity  of 
almost  any  task  of  social  investigation  that  we  may  undertake. 
All  social  problems  hang  together,  because  all  human  phenomena 
are  interdependent.  This  means  that  the  basic  task  of  observa¬ 
tion  and  record  is  enormous,  and  full  of  pitfalls.  The  factual 
data  are  complex,  often  obscure,  frequently  unattainable. 

Among  the  essential  facts  are  those  pertaining  to  the  motives 
of  individuals.  Perhaps  nothing  in  the  world  is  harder  to  get 
at,  let  behavioristic  psychology  and  psychoanalysis  give  us  all 
the  aid  they  can.  People  are  rarely  honest  with  themselves,  let 
alone  others,  especially  with  prying  investigators.  Real  motives 
are  encrusted  in  layer  upon  layer  of  “  rationalization  ” — i.e., 
casuistry — and  hidden  or  camouflaged  in  a  great  variety  of 
ways. 

The  scientist  can  proceed  not  otherwise  than  on  the  assump¬ 
tion  that  human  life,  like  the  rest  of  nature,  is  completely  and 
dependably  mechanistic.  But  human  life  is  also  shot  through 
and  through  with  the  purposes  of  human  individuals.  These 
purposes  are  but  a  part  of  the  mechanism.  Consequently  the 
social  scientist  cannot  dodge,  if  he  would,  the  necessity  of  in¬ 
cluding  motives  in  his  factual  data.  If  he  cannot  get  at  motives 
directly,  he  must  do  the  second  best  thing,  and  infer  them  from 
such  evidence  as  he  can  get.  It  goes  without  saying  that  these 
inferences  must  not  be  made  on  the  basis  of  any  such  a  priori 
norm  as  the  economic  man,  innate  depravity,  consciousness  of 
kind,  or  inherent  racial  psychology. 

It  is  well  known  that  observers  of  the  same  event  will  often 
give  most  diverse  accounts  of  it.  The  courts  have  to  contend 
not  only  against  wilful  perjury  but  against  the  precarious  abil¬ 
ity  of  human  beings  to  see  a  thing  as  it  is  and  to  state  accurately 
what  they  saw.33  If  actual  observers  prove  so  unreliable,  what 
is  to  be  said  of  evidence  which  is  at  a  further  remove  from 

33  “Thirty-eight  witnesses  positively  identified  a  man  in  Chicago  the 
other  day  as  an  accomplice  in  a  swindle.  He  was  lodged  in  jail  to 
await  trial.  There,  in  the  usual  course,  fingerprints  were  taken,  and 
found  to  vary  entirely  from  those  of  the  real  culprit,  which  fortunately 
for  the  prisoner  were  on  file.” — The  Nation,  Feb.  15,  1922,  p.  181. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


243 


the  event?  If  even  external,  physical  characters  cannot  be 
reported  correctly,  what  is  to  be  said  of  the  usual  sort  of  evi¬ 
dence  about  motives? 

These  difficulties  are  very  prominent  in  historical  research. 
It  must  be  remembered  that  a  full  understanding  of  a  particu¬ 
lar  situation  or  event  is  not  to  be  had  until  we  know  the  real 
history  of  the  events  leading  up  to  it — among  which  are  the 
motives  of  men,  long  since  dead,  who  left  either  no  records,  im¬ 
perfect  records,  or  records  purposely  falsified  to  put  them¬ 
selves  in  a  favorable  light.  The  historical  or  genetic  method 
of  research  is  indispensable  to  social  science,  but  its  use  must 
always  be  hampered  by  its  own  inherent  difficulties  and  defects. 
The  historian  is  confronted  with  the  question  of  the  authen¬ 
ticity  of  documents,  and  with  the  absence  of  record  of  many 
essential  objective  facts  of  which  the  documents  give  no  hint.34 
Is  it  strange  that  two  able  historians  of  the  administration  of 
Andrew  Jackson,  for  instance,  both  using  the  same  material, 
and  both  without  any  conscious  bias,  arrive  at  diametrically 
opposite  conclusions  as  to  Jackson’s  character  and  motives? 

But  the  genetico-historical  method  is  not  the  only  one  open 
to  us.  We  must  have  recourse  also  to  statistics,  and  the  statistical 
method,  as  is  well  recognized,  has  also  difficulties  of  its  own. 
The  difficulties  here  referred  to  are  entirely  distinct  from  those 
subjective  frailties  and  conscious  chicaneries  often  in  evidence 
in  the  statistical  work  of  the  hired  experts  of  special  interests. 
The  popular  cynicism,  “liars,  damn  liars,  and  statisticians,” 
doubtless  has  some  correspondence  to  reality  when  applied  to 
the  dishonest  uses  to  which  the  statistical  method  is  occasionally 
put.  But  the  same  could  be  said  of  the  historical  method.  His¬ 
tories  have  been  written  with  conscious  bias,  if  not  with  definite 
propaganda  purpose,  perhaps  with  a  frequency  indeed  quite 
as  great  as  that  with  which  statistics  are  “doctored”  to  bolster 
up  a  doubtful  cause. 

The  difficulties  here  referred  to  are  inherent  in  the  statistical 
method  even  when  it  is  honestly  and  expertly  handled.  They 
fall  into  two  classes,  those  relating,  respectively,  to  the  gather¬ 
ing  and  to  the  analysis  of  data.  In  practice,  the  most  elementary 

34  For  an  illuminating  brief  presentation  of  the  tasks  and  difficulties 
of  scientific  history,  see  Henry  Johnson,  Teaching  of  History ,  195,  Ch.  1. 


244  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

statistical  generalizations  can  usually  be  made  only  after  the 
collection  of  a  vast  mass  of  statistical  data,  i.e.,  facts  which  can 
be  counted,  classified,  tabulated,  averaged,  summarized — in  short 
handled  by  mathematical  methods.  This  laborious  but  necessary 
collection  of  the  primary  data  involves  the  maintenance  of  ex¬ 
pensive  statistical  bureaus  and  offices,  both  governmental  and 
private.  A  newspaper  item  tells,  for  instance,  that  the  general 
price  level  has  gone  up  or  down  so  many  points.  Few  people 
have  any  conception  of  the  enormous  amount  of  labor  required 
in  the  collection  of  individual  commodity  prices  before  that 
apparently  simple  statement  could  be  made.  Not  only  the  col¬ 
lection  of  the  primary  data,  but  their  “reduction” — their 
classification,  tabulation,  co-ordination,  summarizing,  averag¬ 
ing,  and  correlation — entails  great  labor  and  expense. 

If  the  very  massiveness  of  the  data  makes  the  statistical 
method  laborious  and  expensive  on  the  one  hand,  the  impossi¬ 
bility  of  securing  full  statistical  record  of  social  phenomena 
entails,  on  the  other,  the  necessity  of  employing  intricate  tech¬ 
nical  methods  of  calculation  and  inference.  Even  with  the 
most  extensive  possible  collection  of  primary  data — e.g.,  regis¬ 
tration  of  births  and  deaths — statistical  summaries,  averages, 
and  “rates”  can  usually  be  arrived  at  only  through  the  em¬ 
ployment  of  assumptions  and  calculations  which  may  contain 
more  or  less  error.  For  instance,  the  death  rate  for  a  given 
year  is  stated  as  the  number  of  deaths  per  each  1000  of  the 
population  that  year.  If  it  happens  to  be  an  intercensal  year 
the  population  has  to  be  estimated.  While  this  can  usually  be 
done  with  a  fair  degree  of  accuracy,  it  is  nevertheless  an  infer¬ 
ential  element  in  the  calculation  of  the  death  rate.  The  same 
is  of  course  true  of  nearly  all  per  capita  statements. 

Great  as  is  the  mass  of  published  statistical  material — even 
assuming  it  all  to  be  even  passably  reliable — hardly  an  inquiry 
involving  the  use  of  statistical  data  can  be  carried  through 
without  encountering  lacunae  and  uncertainties  in  the  data 
which  drive  the  investigator  to  the  use  of  roundabout  inference 
and  calculation.  Of  course  the  more  of  this  indirection  there 
is,  the  less  near  the  truth  his  conclusions  are  likely  to  be,  how¬ 
ever  conscientiously  and  skillfully  he  may  try  to  avoid  ill- 
founded  generalizations. 

The  use  of  statistics  does  not  give  us  absolute  knowledge.  It 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


245 


is  only  a  method  of  dealing  quantitatively,  with  a  degree  of 
accuracy,  with  masses  of  facts  which  otherwise  could  not  be 
handled. 

Notwithstanding  its  expensiveness  and  laboriousness,  and  the 
many  difficulties,  both  subjective  and  objective,  to  which  it  is 
heir,  the  statistical  method  is  undergoing  a  wide  and  rapid 
expansion  as  an  instrument  of  scientific  investigation.  We  have 
suggested  only  some  leading  difficulties,  and  not  all  of  them. 
A  full  treatment  would  far  exceed  the  limits  of  this  book.  Of 
the  desirability  of  extended  use  of  the  statistical  method  there 
can  be  no  question,  if  only  adequate  technical  training  in  the 
use  of  such  methods  be  provided. 

The  statistical  and  the  genetico-historical  methods  are  the 
only  fundamental  scientific  methods  of  social  investigation.  The 
so-called  “  comparative  ’  ’  method  is  only  a  variation  of  the  one 
or  the  other,  or  a  combination  of  the  two.  In  fact,  the  genetico- 
historical  method  is  dependent  in  no  small  degree  upon  the  em¬ 
ployment  of  statistics. 

Given  a  body  of  facts  capable  of  statistical  classification  and 
summarization,  the  statistical  method  is  really  the  application 
of  mathematics;  and  mathematics  is  symbolic  logic.  Statistics 
is  therefore  a  logical  method.  But  it  is  what  Pareto 35  calls 
a  “logico-experiential”  method — i.e.,  its  logical  processes  have 
to  do  with  objectively  observed  data  and  are  continually  checked 
up  by  them.  In  this  it  differs  radically  from  the  older  deduc¬ 
tive  methods  which  started  from  a  few  supposedly  universally 
valid  postulates,  and  proceeded  to  long  trains  of  deductive 
reasoning,  rarely  if  ever  tested  by  reference  to  actual  facts. 

Whatever  method  or  combination  of  methods  may  be  used 
in  scientific  social  investigation,  there  are  certain  problems  and 
difficulties  which  remain  to  be  mentioned. 

The  first  of  these  is  the  problem  of  definition  and  classifica¬ 
tion.  We  noted  above  that  natural  science  has  got  beyond  the 
taxonomic  state.  It  is  doubtful  if  social  science  has.  It  may 
be  questioned,  in  fact,  whether  social  science  will  not  always 
be  greatly  troubled  by  difficulties  and  disputes  as  to  definition 
and  classification. 

There  are  few  social  science  concepts  which  do  not  involve 


35  Traitt  dc  Socioloyic  Gcn&rale,  1917,  Vol.  r,  Cli.  1. 


246  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

matters  upon  which  interest  conflicts  may  hinge,  and  to  which, 
in  consequence,  the  popular  mind  will  not  now  and  again  attach 
a  penumbra  of  ethical  connotation.  Aside  from  this,  moreover, 
is  the  fact  that  a  large  proportion  of  social  inquiries  are  moti¬ 
vated  by  the  desire  to  give  scientific  aid  toward  the  solution  of 
practical  problems  and  issues.  And  these  issues  involve  dispute 
as  to  facts  where  the  bearing,  and  even  the  observing  of  these 
facts,  hinge  upon  the  practicability  of  securing  objective  defini¬ 
tion  in  matters  where  definition  is  exceedingly  difficult. 

This  can  best  be  understood  by  illustration.  It  has  been,  and 
still  is,  a  live  issue  as  to  whether  the  railroads  can  afford  to 
pay  wages  at  the  present  level  and  at  the  same  time  reduce 
transportation  rates.  The  economic  experts  of  the  Railway 
Brotherhoods  claim,  with  an  impressive  marshalling  of  statistics, 
that  they  can.  With  equally  impressive  array  of  accounts,  the 
railway  executives  claim  they  cannot.  How  determine  the 
truth?  The  whole  question  is  one  of  scientific  accounting.  No 
matter  how  full  the  railway  accounting  may  be,  judgment  on 
the  issue  must  depend  largely  upon  accurate  definition  of  ac¬ 
counting  concepts,  as  well  as  upon  the  accuracy  and  honesty 
with  which  the  railroads  have  classified  under  the  proper  con¬ 
cepts  (“accounts”)  their  earnings  and  expenditures.  Broadly 
speaking,  just  judgment  must  depend  upon  correct  distinction 
— and  adherence  to  it — between  expenditures  which  should  be 
charged  to  capital  account,  i.e.,  investment,  and  those  properly 
chargeable  to  operating  expenses.  If,  as  is  the  case,  even  scien¬ 
tific  accountants  cannot  agree  where  some  important  items 
should  be  placed,  or  if,  as  is  alleged,  the  railroads,  even  under 
the  control  of  the  Interstate  Commerce  Commision,  classify 
many  large  items  as  capital  investment,  which  should  be  charged 
to  operating  costs,  a  definitive  settlement  of  the  issue  on 
objective  evidence  is  impossible — in  the  first  case  because  of 
lack  of  standardized  concepts,  in  the  second  because  of  public 
inability  to  compel  the  companies  to  keep  their  books  scien¬ 
tifically  and  with  due  regard  to  the  public  interest. 

The  court  decisions  are  crammed  with  attempts  on  the  part 
of  presumably  capable  and  unbiased  judges  to  find  and  apply  a 
reasonable  rule  for  the  regulation  of  public  utility  rates,  based 
upon  fair  return  upon  “value”  of  the  property.  Just  as  soon 
as  attempt  to  define  value  of  the  property  is  made,  however,  in- 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


247 


surmountable  difficulties  arise.  It  is  impossible  to  determine  a 
valuation  which  is  fair  to  the  consuming  public,  the  investor, 
and  the  employees  of  the  company.30 

Take  another  question.  What  proportion  of  the  workers  are 
getting  a  “living  wage”?  Here  it  is  obvious  that  the  answer 
depends  not  only  on  the  results  of  extended  statistical  research 
into  money  wages,  commodity  prices,  and  amount  of  unemploy¬ 
ment,  but  upon  the  definition  of  “living  wage.” 

Other  pertinent  illustrations  will  readily  occur  to  the  reader. 
Is  the  negro  naturally  inferior  in  mental  capacity  to  the  white? 
What  do  you  mean  by  “natural”?  Are  high  wages  a  cause  of 
high  prices?  What  is  your  criterion  in  measuring  “high” 
wages?  Is  there  a  tendency  toward  undue  extension  of  the 
powers  of  the  Federal  Government?  What  is  the  dividing  line 
between  “due”  and  “undue”?  Could  the  state  justly  take  a 
part  of  the  increment  of  land  values  on  the  ground  that  such 
increment  is  unearned  by  the  owners?  What  is  the  dividing 
line  between  “earned”  and  “unearned”?  Are  rising  prices 
conducive  to  prosperity?  What  do  you  mean  by  “prosperity”? 
and  whose  prosperity?  .  .  .  What  are  “entangling  alliances”? 
What  is  “normalcy”?  Overpopulation?  Woman’s  sphere? 
Double  taxation?  Confiscatory  taxation? 

It  may  be  said,  with  truth,  that  these  are  questions  involving 
standards  of  equity  of  which  no  exact  objective  definition  can 
be  made.  Yet  they  are  the  type  of  question  upon  which  legis¬ 
latures  and  the  courts  and  the  general  public  are  constantly 
passing  judgment,  and  toward  the  solution  of  which  the  scien¬ 
tific  student  of  social  matters  should  be  expected  to  contribute 
objective  data,  if  not  formulated  conclusions.  It  may  be  said 
that  the  scientific  investigator  should  avoid  problems  involving 
such  difficulties.  But  the  patent  fact  remains  that  if  the  scien¬ 
tist  does  not  grapple  with  them  the  non-scientist  will,  with  re¬ 
sults  that  can  scarcely  be  expected  to  be  as  well  founded  in 
objective  fact  or  as  free  from  subjective  defects  of  logic  as 
those  the  scientist  will  arrive  at.  If  we  cannot  be  objective,  we 
must  be  as  objective  as  we  can. 

38  For  an  informing  article  on  the  impossibility  of  valuation  (whether 
based  on  cost  of  production  or  cost  of  reproduction),  as  a  basis  of  rate 
making,  see  Donald  R.  Richberg,  “A  permanent  Basis  for  Rate  Regula¬ 
tion,”  Yale  Law  Journal,  Vol.  XXXI,  No.  3,  pp.  2G3-282. 


248  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

The  difficulties  inherent  in  such  quasi-ethical  problems  are 
sui  generis.  But  even  in  problems  in  which  subjective  valua- 
ation  does  not  enter,  and  in  which  scientific  definition  and 
classification  can  be  attained,  the  social  scientist  has  difficulties 
enough. 

The  extreme  complexity  of  the  data  he  has  to  deal  with 
renders  some  provisional  simplification  imperative.  An  omnipo¬ 
tent  mind  could  handle  any  number  and  complexity  of  variables, 
but  ours  cannot.  Consequently  we  have  to  resort  to  one  of  three 
devices:  (1)  plough  a  line  straight  through  the  complexity  and 
interrelatedness  of  phenomena,  ignoring  everything  not  closely 
contiguous  to  the  central  march  of  our  inquiry,  (2)  try  to  ex¬ 
plain  everything  as  manifestation  of  a  few  “fundamental  social 
facts,”  or  (3)  pursue  the  method  of  approximation;  consider¬ 
ing  in  the  first  survey  only  the  larger  and  more  obvious  factors, 
and  then,  in  successive  surveys  over  the  same  ground,  bringing 
under  observation  and  calculation  as  many  of  the  hitherto  neg¬ 
lected  or  minor  factors  as  we  can.  The  trouble  with  the  first 
method  is  that  it  does  not  give  us  a  true  view  of  reality,  any 
more  than  looking  along  a  railroad  cut  gives  us  a  view  of  the 
surrounding  landscape.  The  second  method  we  have  already 
criticized,  because  it  tends  to  be  too  deductive  and  too  analogical, 
and  in  the  past  has  been  pseudo-scientific,  in  that  the  “postu¬ 
lates”  were  inadequate  to  the  heavy  load  placed  upon  them. 
Nevertheless,  this  second  device  is  valid  within  limits.  Just  as 
the  physicist,  for  instance,  may  safely  take  the  law  of  gravita¬ 
tion  as  a  datum,  so  may  the  sociologist  take  the  mechanism  of 
stimulus  and  response.  But  to  explain  the  instability  of  a 
given  type  of  aeroplane  by  reference  only  to  the  law  of  gravi¬ 
tation,  or  the  spread  of  an  epidemic  of  hatred  through  a  whole 
population  by  reference  only  to  stimulus  and  response,  would 
tell  us  little  in  either  case.  The  third  method  is  the  safest  and 
best.  In  fact,  it  is  the  method  by  which  science  has  developed 
from  the  start. 

The  trial-and-error  method,  or  research  by  hypothesis,  should 
perhaps  be  included  here,  but  it  is  in  practice  an  aid  in  each  of 
the  three  mentioned,  especially  in  the  third,  rather  than  a  dis¬ 
tinct  method. 

What  the  chief  dangers  dqe  to  complexity  are  should  be 
fairly  clear  upon  a  little  consideration.  They  include  the  pres- 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


249 


ence  of  unproved  hypotheses  taken  as  established;  undetected 
assumptions;  important,  perhaps  signally  important,  facts  left 
unobserved  and  hence  not  taken  into  calculation ;  the  temptation 
to  use  false  analyses  and  to  take  analogy  for  proof;  and,  above 
all,  the  lazy  habit  of  recoiling  from  the  enormous  labor  of  in¬ 
ductive  research  and  trying  to  substitute  for  it  long  trains  of 
deductive  logic. 

This  last  we  may  call  the  fallacy  of  linear  reasoning.  It  is 
the  besetting  sin  of  “one-track”  minds.  Examples  of  it  are  all 
too  common  in  the  social  sciences.  All  of  classical  political 
economy,  from  the  economic  man  and  Ricardo’s  theory  of  value 
to  the  frictionless  static  state  and  Clark’s  specific  productivity, 
is  full  of  fine  examples.  In  sociology,  the  biological  or  selection¬ 
ist  school  is  a  pertinent  example.  In  fact,  practically  every 
sociological  treatise  (other  than  the  “  patched-together,  ”  eclectic, 
elementary  texts)  affords  illustration.  Eugenics  literature  is 
shot  through  and  through  with  linear  reasoning.  Less  than 
formerly,  but  still,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  the  eugenists, 
like  their  precursors  the  selectionists,  are  so  keen  to  trace  out 
the  influence  of  heredity  that  they  constantly  take  for  heredity 
much  that  non-linear  observation  would  show  to  be  due  to 
ontogenetic  variation  under  environmental  influence.  If  human 
life  is  ever  reduced  to  a  mathematical  equation  it  is  safe  to  say 
it  will  not  be  a  simple  linear  equation.  Causation  does  not  work 
in  lines.  That  is  the  reason  we  have  spoken  of  the  “nexus” 
rather  than  of  a  “stream”  of  causation. 

From  the  complexity  of  social  phenomena  results  another 
fundamental  difficulty  which  cannot  be  avoided,  and  which  is 
a  growing  menace  to  scientific  realism.  The  field  of  investiga¬ 
tion  has  to  be  divided  and  subdivided,  until  there  are  a  dozen 
more  or  less  distinct  and  disparate  social  sciences,  in  no  one 
of  which  can  the  investigator  cover  more  than  a  small  part  of 
the  total  ground,  and  of  the  whole  content  of  which  he  can 
have  but  imperfect  knowledge.  Furthermore,  ramifications  of 
many,  if  not  most,  of  the  question  the  investigator  is  called 
upon  to  study  in  any  special  field  are  so  numerous  and  extensive 
that  it  is  practically  impossible  for  any  one  individual  to  carry 
out  the  necessary  research. 

The  more  specialization — the.  more  minute  the  division  of 
intellectual  labor— the  greater  probability  that  an  investigator 


250  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

objective  and  scientific  in  his  own  field,  will  in  other  matters 
betray  much  the  same  subjectivity  and  sentimentalism  as  so 
unfortunately  characterize  the  popular  mind.  The  specialist, 
moreover,  is  likely  greatly  to  overestimate  the  importance  of 
his  own  particular  knowledge,  and  of  the  type  of  phenomena 
which  he  studies.  Specialism  thus  makes  both  for  subjectivism 
in  the  general  sense  and  for  a  distorted  perspective  in  scientific 
attention  and  valuation.  The  necessity  for  so  much  close  de¬ 
tailed  work  in  a  restricted  area  puts  us  in  a  position  where  we 
cannot  see  the  forest  for  the  trees. 

For  the  present  there  does  not  seem  much  remedy  for  this 
situation.  No  surely  grounded  reform  or  achievement,  not  the 
product  of  wasteful  conflict  or  of  trial  and  error,  can  or  will 
be  made  in  the  absence  of  a  tolerably  well-balanced  view  of 
social  organization  and  the  social  process  as  a  whole — not 
merely  its  political,  its  economic,  and  its  biological  aspects, 
respectively,  and  still  less  any  partial  sector  of  any  one  of 
these  main  phases.  But  it  is  equally  true  that  the  broad  view 
necessary  cannot  be  had  without  a  previous  study  of  the  main 
details.  An  accurate  map  of  the  outlines  of  a  country  can  be 
made  only  after  a  detailed  survey  of  bearings  and  distances, 
contour,  and  cultural  features.  It  is  the  same  with  society. 
And  neither  in  geography  nor  in  society  can  we  know  where 
we  are  or  how  to  get  where  we  want  to  go  without  a  reasonably 
accurate  map  to  tell  us. 

This  means  that  we  shall  have  to  have  an  enormous  amount 
of  specialized  research  done  and  recorded  in  published  reports 
and  monographs.  But  it  means  also  that  this  study  of  details 
and  partial  phases  will  be  without  much  avail  unless  there  be 
coupled  with  it  the  work  of  other  scientific  students,  who  take 
the  results  of  the  monographic  surveys  and  synthesize  them 
into  as  full  and  as  tenable  an  objective,  scientific  theory  of 
social  causation  as  the  available  knowledge  at  the  time  makes 
possible.37 

The  task  of  necessary  research,  even  as  a  basis  for  the  solu¬ 
tion  of  specific  social  questions,  is  so  burdensome  that  it  can 
be  accomplished  only  through  organized  co-operation.  The  in¬ 
dependent  investigator  has  his  place,  but  it  will  probably  be  a 

37  Cf.  L.  L.  Bernard,  “The  Function  of  Generalization,”  Monist,  Oct., 
1920,  pp.  623-G30. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


251 


diminishing  one  as  time  goes  on.  The  effectiveness  of  scientific 
objectivity  and  induction  will  be  greatly  increased  when  the 
research  activities  of  individuals  and  groups  are  co-ordinated 
and  focused  by  scientific  steering  committees.38 

It  may  be  noted  in  passing  that  while  most  scientific  inves¬ 
tigators  in  the  social  field  as  yet  work  independently,  for  the 
most  part,  with  only  such  contacts  and  suggestive  stimulus  as 
they  derive  incidentally  from  the  annual  meetings  of  their 
various  “learned  societies,”  there  is  a  very  noteworthy  ten¬ 
dency  for  the  development  of  adequately  financed  organized 
research.  This  is  particularly  true  in  the  field  of  economics. 

The  reader  may  conclude  that  our  treatment  of  scientific 
method  and  attitude  has  been  rather  a  setting  forth  of  difficulties 
and  obstacles  than  a  constructive  exposition.  But  if  these  diffi¬ 
culties  exist — and  they  have  not  been  unduly  emphasized — the 
first  step  toward  a  constructive  attitude  is  to  recognize  them. 
“Happily  foreknowing  may  avoid.”  Nor  should  we  be  intimi¬ 
dated  by  them.  Let  the  difficulties  to  the  attainment  of  the 
scientific  attitude  and  in  the  use  of  scientific  method  be  ever 
so  great,  that  is  not  saying  that  the  scientific  method,  used 
even  imperfectly,  will  not  give  better,  more  economical,  and 
more  permanent  results  than  the  method  of  blundering  through, 
or  of  sentimental  praise  and  blame  and  ignorant  combat  psy¬ 
chology. 


88  Will  Durant,  Philosophy  and  the  Social  Problem,  1917,  Gli,  4. 


CHAPTER  X 


INDIVIDUALISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 
1.  Individualism  of  Ends 

Given  an  end  to  be  accomplished,  science  can  be  called 
upon  to  suggest  the  best  procedure,  regardless  of  the 
value  or  morality  of  the  end.  Science  can  be  the  hand¬ 
maiden  of  conservatism  or  radicalism,  aristocracy  or  democracy, 
production  or  predatory  acquisition,  construction  or  destruction. 
But  can  science  have  anything  to  say  in  drawing  the  distinction 
between  good  and  bad  purposes?  Can  it  help  us  to  decide 
between  alternative  ends  as  well  as  between  methods  or  means? 

The  most  fundamental  social  issues  hinge  far  more  upon  con¬ 
flicts  of  ends  than  upon  divergencies  of  opinion  as  to  method. 
The  fundamental  conflict  between  conservative  and  radical 
sentiments  results  from  incompatability  of  ends.  The  capital¬ 
ist  conservative,  for  example,  regards  his  own  class  as  an  end 
and  the  workers  as  means,  while  the  labor  radical  looks  upon 
the  workers  as  ends  and  the  capitalist  as  a  parasite.  This  in  a 
nutshell  is  the  explanation  of  the  bitter  opposition  between  the 
aristocratic,  or  plutocratic,  tradition  and  the  sentiment  of 
democracy. 

Now  has  ethics  anything  to  say  on  this  age-old  conflict?  Is 
it  merely  a  matter  of  taste  whether  one  should  prefer  a  society 
composed  of  one  set  of  people  who  regard  themselves  as  ends 
and  another  to  be  treated  as  mere  means,  or  a  society  in  which 
all  are  recognized  as  real  ends  and  in  which  all  are  expected 
to  be  serviceable  units  in  a  complex  co-operative  organization 
of  means?  Or  is  it  possible  that  we  may  formulate,  at  least  as 
a  working  hypothesis,  some  objective,  scientifically  justifiable, 
standard  of  “ right ”  and  “good”  by  which  we  can  judge  the 
two  points  of  view? 

If  an  objective  standard  is  possible,  it  is  fairly  evident  that 
it  must  be  based  upon  a  scientific,  and  that  is  to  say,  a  mechan- 

252 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


253 


istic  psychology.  Metaphysics  and  figures  of  speech  will  have 
to  be  ruled  out  of  court.  Ethics  is  essentially  a  calculus  of 
ends  and  means.  Ends  are  things  or  states  desired.  In  other 
words,  they  are  motives.  A  valuation  of  ends  not  founded  on 
an  objective  analysis  of  human  nature  can  lay  no  claim  to 
scientific  status.  This  does  not  mean  that  we  must  join  the 
extreme  behaviorists  in  denying  recognition  to  “consciousness” 
and  in  refusing  scientific  status  to  any  psychological  observation 
or  generalization  not  stated  in  terms  of  neurons  and  glandular 
secretion.  But  it  does  mean  that  we  have  to  get  rid  of  such 
vagaries  as  “social  mind,”  “social  consciousness,”  “social 
value”  and  the  like.  These  conceptions  are  objectionable,  as 
mere  figures  of  speech,  the  result  of  analogical  reasoning,  but 
the  fatal  objection  to  them  is  that  they  are  responsible  for  an 
unconscionable  amount  of  loose  thinking  in  regard  to  the 
ethics  of  means  and  ends.  They  should  be  made  to  walk  the 
plank  along  with  soul  stuff  and  innate  ideas. 

An  ethics  grounded  in  a  hard  headed  objective  psychology 
will  have  to  regard  the  individual  as  the  only  possible  end.  The 
moment  some  metaphysical  absolute  (like  God,  or  the  “race”) 
or  some  figurative  thing  like  “social”  welfare  is  set  up  as  end, 
ethics  gets  into  logical  difficulties  with  the  known  facts  of 
motivation  and  breaks  company  with  scientific  psychology. 
Whatever  be  the  various  types  of  motives  (whether  unconscious 
reflexes,  sub-conscious  “complexes,”  or  conscious  desires  and 
interests),  these  motives  have  psychological  reality  and  signifi¬ 
cance  only  as  they  determine  the  activity  of  individuals ;  and 
they  have  ethical  significance  only  as  they  involve  problems  of 
individual  conduct  in  a  society  of  individuals. 

When  we  say  that  the  individual  is  the  only  possible  end,  we 
must  define  our  terms  with  some  care.  What  is  an  individual? 
What  do  we  mean  by  “end”?  And  what  makes  the  individual 
an  end? 

By  an  “individual”  we  do  not  mean  an  independent,  self- 
contained,  and  self-determining  entity,  an  entirely  distinct  and 
discrete  something  set  up  out  of  nothing  and  sharply  outlined 
against  the  rest  of  the  universe.  So  far  as  physical  structure  is 
concerned,  the  individual  is  a  discrete  and  definite  unit.  Func¬ 
tionally  he  is  not  so.  Functionally  lie  becomes  an  individual, 
gets  his  growth  and  development,  and  lives,  only  by  virtue  of 


254  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

a  host  of  symbiotic  relations  with  other  individuals.  Theoreti¬ 
cally  it  would  be  possible  for  a  new  born  child  to  be  fed  and 
protected  without  ever  hearing  a  human  voice  or  being  subject 
to  stimuli  of  any  kind  from  human  beings.  Such  a  child  would 
get  physical  development.  But  of  any  mental  development  it 
would  have  very  little,  if  any.  It  would  not,  and  could  not, 
develop  into  a  human  being.  Actually,  every  child  is  born  into 
a  social  environment.  The  child  comes  with  an  hereditary 
equipment  of  reflexes  and  instincts  which  give  it  the  initial 
capacity  to  make  such  reactions  to  its  environment  as  are  essen¬ 
tial  to  its  existence  and  growth,  first  physical,  then  mental. 
Through  the  learning  process  the  functioning  of  this  hereditary 
equipment  is  modified  and  directed  and  developed  to  meet  the 
child’s  need  in  his  own  specific  surroundings.  In  the  final 
analysis  the  whole  process  of  learning  and  habituation  is  simply 
the  adjustment  of  a  neuro-glandular-muscular  mechanism  to 
function  in  a  particular  environment,  and  to  function  in  such 
a  way  that  it  can  survive  and  live  to  go  through  the  normal 
cycle  of  life.  Because  of  his  helplessness,  the  child  has  to  make, 
or  rather  have  made  in  him,  those  adjustments  imposed  and 
required  by  his  environmental,  and  especially  his  social,  situa¬ 
tion. 

Somewhere  in  this  process  of  adjustment,  development,  and 
learning,  what  we  call  consciousness,  or  conscious  experience, 
begins.  How  consciousness  develops  and  what  it  is  we  need  not 
stop  to  consider.  Certainly  it  is  a  form  of  behavior,  and  has 
a  physical  basis  in  the  physical  states  and  responses  of  the 
whole  organism;  indeed  it  is  doubtless  fair  to  say  that  it  is 
those  states  and  responses.  Whatever  it  is  and  however  it  de¬ 
velops,  consciousness  is  what  defines  the  human  individual.  It 
is  a  social  product  in  that  it  is  response  of  a  physical  organism 
to  stimuli  from  a  social  environment.  But  as  no  two  of  us 
have,  or  ever  could  have,  exactly  the  same  stimuli  from  our 
environment,  so  the  systems  of  responses  we  develop,  while 
similar,  are  never  the  same.  We  know  our  own  stream  of  experi¬ 
ence  as  we  cannot  know  that  of  another  person. 

It  is  precisely  this  fact  of  differential  consciousness  or  experi¬ 
ence  that  not  only  defines  the  individual  but  constitutes  the 
individual  an  end,  so  far  as  the  concept  of  end  has  any  ethical 
significance. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


255 


An  end,  regarded  from  a  slightly  different  angle,  is  something 
in  the  literal  sense  idealized,  imagined.  It  is  a  design — some¬ 
thing  marked  ont  to  be  accomplished — a  purpose.  Purpose  in¬ 
volves  an  intellective  process,  memory,  imagination,  association, 
and  attention.  A  simple  unideated  reflex,  or  a  reaction  which 
is  purely  instinctive  can  have  no  purpose,  though  it  may  fulfil 
very  essential  functions.  Hence  when  we  attribute  “ purpose’ ” 
to  the  behavior  of  lower  organisms  or  to  the  organization  of 
the  universe  we  simply  pursue  the  method  of  primitive  man  in 
judging  everything  by  himself,  and  read  our  own  consciousness 
into  the  organism  or  into  the  universe. 

Now  the  behaviorist  will  say  that  the  ideational,  planned 
reactions  of  the  cultured  human  being  are  different  from  those 
of  the  amoeba  only  in  degree.  Both  are  wholly  mechanistic. 
Both  are  determined.  The  actions  of  a  human  being  are  more 
intricate,  that  is  all.  With  this  we  need  have  no  quarrel.  For 
if  we  accept  the  fundamental  faith  of  science  that  every  effect 
has  its  cause  and  every  cause  its  effect,  we  are  bound  to  hold 
that  an  individual’s  behavior,  however  complex  and  “pur¬ 
posive,”  is  in  the  final  analysis  the  mechanistic  response  of  his 
organism  to  the  stimuli  of  its  environment.  But  the  difference 
of  degree,  in  complexity,  in  directness  vs.  indirectness,  and  in 
subordination  of  the  impulse  of  the  moment  to  the  real  or  sup¬ 
posed  whole-life  interests  of  the  organism  capable,  through 
memory  and  imagination,  of  a  continuum  of  experience,  is 
signally  important.  The  physiological  processes  of  the  amoeba 
or  of  a  cow  enable  the  amoeba  or  the  cow  to  exist.  Both  will 
avoid  danger  and  seek  subsistence,  just  as  I  do.  Neither  is 
aware  of  what  it  is  doing.  Neither  thinks.  Now  when  I  think, 
my  thinking  itself  is  a  mechanistic  neuro-muscular  stimulus- 
and-response  process,  but  it  is  a  process  through  which  I  am 
aware  (more  or  less)  of  what  I  am  doing,  and  what  I  shall  aim 
(prepare)  to  do  next  week  or  next  year.  To  the  extent  that  I 
think,  I  am  conscious.  Thinking,  I  live  not  only  in  the  present, 
with  some  wisps  of  the  past  sticking  to  it,  but  in  the  future  as 
well.  Thinking,  I  form  purposes,  and  these  purposes — imag¬ 
ined  future  states  or  situations — play  a  part  in  determining  my 
present  actions.  In  other  words,  I  am  an  end  because  I  think. 

We  define  the  term  end,  therefore,  with  reference  to  con¬ 
sciousness.  If  an  organism  is  not  conscious  of  being  an  end 


256  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

it  is  difficult  to  see  in  what  ethical  sense  it  can  he  one.  Uncon¬ 
scious  activity  may  serve  some  functional  “end”  in  the  biolog¬ 
ical  or  physiological  sense — which  is  merely  in  the  sense  that 
certain  results  flow  from  it — but  hardly  in  the  ethical  sense 
unless  its  results  ultimately  in  some  way  become  presented  in 
consciousness. 

This  admittance  of  consciousness  into  the  discussion  is  of 
course  not  in  accordance  with  the  views  of  the  most  extreme 
behaviorists.  In  the  first  flush  of  their  determination  to  con- 
struct  an  objectively  scientific  psychology,  and  their  resultant 
rejection  of  all  conclusions  arrived  at  through  the  method  of 
introspection,  they  have  convinced  themselves  that  they  can 
have  nothing  to  do  with  “consciousness.”  Taking  conscious¬ 
ness  to  mean  a  distinct  entity  of  some  sort — the  “soul,”  the 
“self” — something  existent  “above”  and  in  a  measure  apart 
from  the  mechanistic  functioning  of  the  neuro-rnuscular  organ¬ 
ism,  they  hold  that  it  can  be  observed  only  through  introspec¬ 
tion,  which  is  to  say  that  objective,  verifiable  observation  of  it 
is  impossible.  In  thus  accepting  the  transcendental,  quasi-mys- 
tical  conception  of  consciousness  from  the  older,  introspective 
psychology,  they  are  themselves  guilty  of  an  unscientific  atti¬ 
tude.  For  the  fact  remains  that  some  kinds  of  mechanistic 
responses  give  rise  to  (or  are)  what  we  call  consciousness,  while 
other  kinds  do  not  (or  are  not)  ;  and  consciousness  is  not  oblit¬ 
erated  by  saying  that  the  introspective  method  of  observation 
is  unscientific,  whether  that  assertion  be  true  or  not. 

Whatever  the  mechanism  of  consciousness  is,  we  are  using 
the  term  consciousness  simply  to  denote  that  mechanism,  and 
say  that  in  its  absence  there  may  be  function  but  not  purpose, 
or  in  our  nomenclature,  end. 

It  cannot  be  expected  that  a  doctrine  of  individualism  of 
ends  will  rapidly  gain  acceptance  in  formal  codes,  however 
universally  it  may  correspond  to  the  facts  of  human  motivation 
and  conduct,  or  however  “ethical”  and  “social”  and  in  accord 
with  what  is  glibly  and  superficially  called  altruism  it  may  be 
shown  to  be.  To  say  that  the  individual  is  the  only  possible 
end  amounts  to  saying,  if  our  thought  be  confined  to  ends,  that 
there  is  no  such  thing,  in  the  last  analysis,  as  altruism,  and 
that  all  the  paraphernalia  of  discourse  on  duty  and  the  elements 
of  “good”  character  (including  truthfulness,  loyalty,  industry, 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


257 


conscientiousness,  self-control,  sympathy,  charity,  honor,  etc.) 
are  matters  having  to  do  primarily  with  means,  rather  than 
ends.  It  is  saying,  also,  that  in  the  last  analysis  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  self-sacrifice ;  or  rather  that  all  that  any  man  can 
sacrifice  is  one  or  more  of  his  many  conceivably  possible  selves 
(whether  “ lower”  or  “higher”)  for  the  self  that  must ,  from 
all  the  forces  of  the  universe,  be  the  one  which  at  the  moment 
obtains  realization.1 

We  always  act  in  obedience  to  the  strongest  urge  or  combina¬ 
tion  of  urges — using  the  term  to  include  unconscious  as  well 
as  conscious  processes — and  the  strongest  urge  is,  if  conscious, 
the  one  obedience  to  which  we  believe  or  feel  will  give  us  the 
greatest  happiness  or  the  least  unhappiness  under  the  circum¬ 
stances;  and  if  unconscious,  the  one  which  is  the  natural  and 
logical  expression  of  our  organism  and  its  needs  at  the  time. 

It  makes  little  or  no  difference  whether  we  consider  the 
strongest  motive  in  terms  of  happiness  (utilitarianism)  or  in 
terms  of  self-expression  (energism).  Whatever  an  individual 
does,  in  a  given  situation  and  under  given  environmental  stim¬ 
uli,  whether  of  freedom  or  of  repression,  is  the  response  of  a 
particular  organism  to  a  particular  set  of  stimuli.  Given  the 
stimuli,  the  nature  of  the  response  is  determined  by  the  in¬ 
dividual’s  hereditary  traits  and  by  all  his  past  experience,  that 
is,  by  all  his  past  responses.  Whatever  he  does  is  an  expression 
of  self,  as  conditioned  by  the  environmental  situation. 

In  one  case,  he  may  kill  a  man  to  save  his  own  life ;  in  an¬ 
other,  he  may  give  his  own  life  to  save  another  man,  or  to  ful¬ 
fill  his  conception  of  duty,  e.g.,  as  to  patriotism.  In  either 
case  the  action  is  self-expression.  In  the  first  case  the  act 
may  be  merely  instinctive  or  it  may  be  premeditated.  In  the 
second  case  the  act  may  also  be  instinctive  or  it  may  be  the 
result  of  compulsions,  external  (the  draft)  or  internal  (fear 
of  regarding  himself  as  a  slacker),  or  of  what  are  ordinarily 
called  self-sacrifice  and  altruism.  In  either  case  the  action,  if 
premeditated,  is  the  one  which,  “all  things  considered,”  the 
individual  thinks  will  contribute  most  to  his  happiness. 


1  This  is  not  saying,  of  course,  that  better  selves,  in  uncounted 
myriads,  may  not  he  sacrificed  by  the  stupidities  of  narrow  selfishness, 
and  of  class,  nationalistic,  and  racial  rivalries  stimulated  by  commercial 
materialism. 


258  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

If  we  could  consider  the  individual  as  an  independent  func¬ 
tional  entity,  happiness  could  be  regarded  as  that  psycho¬ 
physical  tone  resultant  upon,  and  accompanying,  the  full,  free, 
and  healthy  functioning  of  those  of  his  powers  and  capacities 
which  have  been  trained  to  function,  and  also,  it  may  be,  of 
powers  and  capacities,  hitherto  repressed,  but  now  released.2 

But  the  individual  is  never  alone.  As  he  is  a  social  product, 
so  also  is  he  always  a  member  of  society — which  means  that  he 
never  can  be  “free.”  An  act  which,  in  itself,  for  him  alone, 
might  give  happiness,  may  result  in  great  unhappiness  for  him 
because  of  its  effect  on  other  individuals.  If  he  should  do  cer¬ 
tain  things  he  knows  other  persons  would  punish  him.  If  he 
should  do  certain  other  things  he  knows  that  his  sympathetic 
appreciation  of  the  unhappiness  caused  others  would  make 
him  himself  unhappy.  Hence  the  idea  of  happiness  must  be 
stated  in  a  way  which  takes  full  account  of  the  fact  that  every 
individual  is  a  member  of  a  society  of  individuals.  Happiness, 
then,  is  that  psycho-physical  state  or  tone  which  results  from, 
and  accompanies,  the  full,  free,  and  healthy  functioning  of 
the  individual’s  powers  and  capacities,  to  whatever  extent  and 
intensity  and  in  whatsoever  directions  do  not  interfere  with 
a  like  functioning  of  the  powers  of  other  individuals. 

It  is  desirable,  indeed  essential,  here  to  make  a  distinction 
between  what  have  been  called  respectively  “the  narrower  selfish¬ 
ness”  and  “the  broader  selfishness.”  The  narrow  egotist,  pur¬ 
suing  happiness  by  direct  means,  acts,  so  far  as  he  can,  as  if 
he  himself  were  the  only  end.  He  pursues  the  satisfaction  of 
his  own  desires  and  interests  with  little  reference  to  the  happi¬ 
ness  of  others  and  with  no  thought  that  they  too  are  ends  in 
themselves.  It  must  be  admitted  that  he  often  succeeds  in  ac¬ 
quiring  certain  pachydermous  characteristics — the  unhappiness 
of  others  does  not  affect  his  spirits.  But  it  should  also  be  obvious 
that  such  an  individual  also  narrows  his  own  capacity  for 
experience,  and  in  limiting  that,  narrows  his  own  personality ; 
with  the  result  that  many  types  and  sources  of  happiness,  avail¬ 
able  only  through  sensitive  sympathy  and  co-operation,  are 
closed  to  him.  The  broader  egotist,  on  the  contrary,  may,  be- 

2  A  sort  of  vicarious  release  and  functioning  may  take  place  througt 
day-dreaming,  dream  symbolization,  and  anticipation ;  but  into  tbi 
intricate  psychoanalytic  aspect  of  the  question  we  need  not  enter. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


259 


cause  of  his  quick  sympathies,  suffer  all  the  miseries  he  sees 
others  suffer,3  hut  he  also  vicariously  enjoys  the  happiness  of 
others,  and  by  entering  into  their  experience  may  live  an  in¬ 
finitely  larger  life  than  the  narrow  egotist  ever  has  the  capacity 
to  conceive. 

We  must  go  even  further.  The  limitation  of  the  principle  of 
happiness  necessitated  by  the  fact  that  we  are  all  members  of 
society  must  be  put  positively  as  well  as  negatively.  Not  only 
am  I  in  my  own  self-interest  bound  not  to  use  you  as  a  door¬ 
mat,  but  also  positively  I  am  bound  to  co-operate  in  your 
happiness.  Without  this  positive  qualification,  I  may  go  my 
own  sweet  way  and  let  you  go  yours.  There  is  perhaps  some¬ 
thing  to  be  said  for  this  policy  in  a  world  in  which  so  many 
persons  are  ready  to  mind  everybody’s  business  but  their  own 
— so  quick  to  prescribe  for  you  how  you  shall  live  your  own 
life.  Nevertheless,  from  a  larger  point  of  view,  it  will  not  do. 
So  social  is  the  nature  of  man — so  much  is  happiness  and  even 
“self”  expression  the  product  of  a  social  process — so  much  is 
our  life  widened  by  sympathy,  and  so  happy  a  field  for  the 
satisfaction  of  gregariousness  and  workmanship  do  mutual  aid 
and  “altruistic”  co-operation  afford,  that  my  life  should  be 
broadened,  my  self-expression  multiplied,  and  my  happiness 
increased  in  the  proportion  that  I  not  only  refuse  to  live  at  your 
expense  (equally  refusing  to  let  you  live  at  mine)  but  equally 
in  the  proportion  that  I  co-operate  with  you  to  widen  your 
sphere  of  self-expression  and  to  increase  your  happiness.  To 
illustrate  a  broad  principle  by  specific  and  perhaps  trivial  ex¬ 
amples  :  I  may  enjoy  perfect  physical  health,  but  I  shall  cer¬ 
tainly  enjoy  it  more  if  you  too  are  healthy  and  can  play  and 
work  with  me.  I  may  get  a  certain  pleasure  of  prestige  in 
possessing  a  fine  and  costly  library,  but  I  shall  get  more  enjoy¬ 
ment  out  of  it  if  you  have  had  such  opportunities  that  you 
can  enjoy  with  me  the  literature  it  contains.  I  may  enjoy  living 
in  a  million  dollar  palace,  but  it  would  have  taken,  perhaps,  but 
slight  change  in  my  past  experience,  to  lead  me  to  enjoy  much 
more  living  in  a  ten  thousand  dollar  cottage  and  devoting  the 

8In  cases  of  hypertrophied  sympathy,  he  suffers  miseries  that  others, 
less  sensitive  than  he  is,  do  not  suffer,  because  he  reads  his  own  person¬ 
ality  into  their  experience  and  vicariously  suffers  what  he  would  feel 
were  he  in  their  place. 


260  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

other  $990,000  to  facilities  which  the  whole  community  could 
enjoy. 

Whichever  avenue  to  self-expression  and  happiness — the  nar¬ 
rower  or  the  broader — men  have  chosen,  or  have  been  driven  into 
by  their  environment  and  inherited  temperaments,  and  how¬ 
ever  much  they  have  tried  to  convince  themselves  that  something 
other  than  the  individual  is  end,  the  chief  end  of  man  has  always 
been  happiness  through  self-expression.4  Where  temperament 
and  environment  were  such  that  self-expression  was  acquired 
through  head-hunting  or  gladiatorial  combats,  those  were  the 
activities  in  which  the  men  of  that  region  found  that  functional 
satisfaction  which  may  properly  be  thought  of,  generically,  as 
happiness.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  training  and  environment  had 
puritanized  men  into  beings  who  could  find  self-expression  only 
in  the  stern  pursuit  of  disagreeable  duty  or  in  escaping  hell- 
fire,  a  man  in  that  part  of  the  world  could  not  be  happy  unless 
he  were  thus  active. 

If  only  conscious  individuals  are  to  be  regarded  as  ends,  it 
is  evident  that  no  group,  society,  or  institution,  regarded  as 
distinct  from  the  several  individuals  who  compose  it,  can  be 
an  end.  Consciousness  has  never  been  observed  in  disconnec¬ 
tion  from  a  nervous  system,  nor  self-consciousness  apart  from  a 
highly  developed  nervous  system — probably  in  none  below  man 
is  it  present.  There  is  organic  functional  activity  in  plants  and 
animals  below  man,  but  it  is  not  conscious,  thought-of  activity — 
at  least  it  is  not  conscious  in  any  sense  comparable  to  that  in 
which  human  conduct  is  so.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  we  do 
not  think  of  animals  below  man  as  ends  in  themselves.  No 
group,  society,  or  institution  can  be  an  end,  because  it  has  no 
nervous  system  and  no  consciousness.  To  speak  of  group  con¬ 
sciousness,  social  mind,  and  the  like,  or  even  of  public  opinion 
and  public  sentiment,  is  to  speak  in  elliptical  figures  of  speech. 
The  only  consciousness,  mind,  opinion,  or  sentiment  there  is  in 
any  group  is  the  consciousness,  mind,  opinion,  or  sentiment, 
of  the  individual  members  of  the  group.  Likewise  the  happiness 
of  the  group  is  the  happiness  of  its  individual  members. 

It  should  be  clear  now,  therefore,  that  those  who  set  up  the 
state,  the  family,  the  race,  or  any  process  or  attitude,  such  as 


4  A  utilitarian  suggestion  crept  into  even  the  Westminster  Catechism. 
“The  chief  end  of  man  is  to  glorify  God  and  enjoy  Him  forever 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


261 


parenthood  5  or  loyalty,6 7  as  end  are  putting  the  cart  before  the 
horse — confusing  means  and  ends.  No  institution  can  be  other 
than  a  means,  however  much  its  devotees  and  beneficiaries  may 
talk  and  act  as  if  it  were  an  end  in  itself. 

The  direction  in  which  we  should  hope,  then,  to  find  the  trail 
to  a  scientific  ethics  would  lead  us  through  psychology  to  a 
utilitarian  doctrine  of  individualism  of  ends — but  not,  let  us 
hasten  to  add,  to  an  individualism  of  means,  such  as  is  exem¬ 
plified  in  our  social  inheritance  of  economic  laissez  fane  from 
the  political  revolt  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

The  individual  is  end  because  he  only  is  capable  of  experi¬ 
ence,  and,  specifically,  of  what  makes  life  worth  living — hap¬ 
piness  through  conscious  functional  activity.  But  the  individ¬ 
ual  is  a  social  product,  has  a  social  nature,  and  must  cease  to 
function  if  taken  out  of  the  social  medium  in  which  he  lives  and 
moves  and  has  his  being.  His  happiness,  and  the  self-expres¬ 
sion  of  which  it  is  the  product,  are  really  a  locus  of  social  (i.e., 
inter-individual)  “forces,”  stimuli,  and  opportunities.  The 
individual  may  be  regarded  as  a  sort  of  dynamo,  in  which 
center  a  multitude  of  lines  of  social  influence,  which  are  there 
transformed  into  currents  of  energy  and  personality  that,  then, 
flow  out  from  him  to  the  external  world.  The  amount  and 
character  of  his  self-expression  and  happiness  depend  on  two 
things,  (1)  the  amount  and  kind  of  energy  of  which  he  is  the 
locus,  and  (2)  the  outlets  for  this  energy  as  transformed  and 
re-co-ordinated  by  his  personality.  The  first  we  may  summar¬ 
ize  under  the  term  opportunity,  the  second  under  service f 

2.  Society  as  Means 

What  now  is  the  means  through  which  the  individual  realizes 
himself,  lives  his  life?  Whence  comes  the  opportunity  for  hap¬ 
piness  and  self-expression? 

The  amount  of  opportunity  available  to  the  individual,  and 
hence  the  amplitude  of  his  life,  depend  very  largely  upon  the 
efficiency  of  the  social  organization  of  which  he  is  a  part. 
Whether  we  take  it  on  the  ground  of  psychology — the  nature 


6  Cf.  C.  W.  Saleeby,  Parenthood  and  Race  Culture,  1009. 

8  Cf.  Itoyce’s  “Loyalty  to  loyalty,”  in  his  Philosophy  of  Loyalty,  1008. 

7  Avoiding,  however,  any  narrow  or  sentimental  connotations  of  the 

term. 


262  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

and  variety  of  stimulation  and  outlet  for  self-expression — or 
upon  economic  grounds — the  production  and  distribution  of  the 
material  goods, — the  character  of  the  individual's  self-expres¬ 
sion,  the  degree  of  his  happiness,  depends  upon  the  co-operative 
creation  of  opportunity. 

It  is  true  that  an  individual  motivated  by  the  narrower  ego¬ 
tism,  as  we  saw  above,  may  take  no  part  in  this  co-operative 
creative  workmanship  and  yet  be  what  is  ordinarily  regarded 
as  happy.  He  may  take  the  position  that  he  is  not  to  blame 
for  his  own  existence,  and  that  the  world  consequently  owes 
him  a  living.  In  obedience  to  this  idea  one  person  may  become 
a  thief,  or  a  profiteer,  always  actuated  by  the  acquisitive  mo¬ 
tive,  always  scheming  how  he  may  get  something  for  nothing. 
Another  may  become  an  idle  society  woman  without  a  thought 
as  to  who  pays  for  her  privileges  or  to  her  moral  right  to  sup¬ 
port  in  idleness.  In  the  history  of  the  race  millions  have  acted 
this  way  and  “prospered.”  They  have  “played  the  game  and 
won,”  finding  the  joy  of  self-expression  in  the  sense  of  power, 
of  guile,  or  of  charm. 

But  one  may  perhaps  be  permitted  to  aver  without  becoming 
homiletic  that  they  have  also  lost.  To  say  nothing  of  sym¬ 
pathy  and  vicarious  experience,  they  have  missed  the  joy  of 
workmanship.  One  instinct  has  been  atrophied  and  smothered 
in  the  overgrowth  of  another.  Creativeness  has  been  subordi¬ 
nated  to  acquisitiveness. 

This  is  not  saying  that  creativeness  is  necessarily  “higher” 
than  acquisitiveness.  It  is,  however,  more  essential.  For  if 
none  created,  there  would  be  nothing  to  acquire.  Hence  with¬ 
out  resorting  to  “moral”  postulates,  we  can  easily  see  that  a 
productive  sharing  in  the  co-operative  activities  of  society,  if 
not  undertaken  voluntarily  by  the  individual,  out  of  joy  in 
work  and  from  a  sense  of  self-respect,  will  be  required  of  him 
by  other  individuals  in  protection  of  their  own  interests.  Pro¬ 
ductively  we  stand,  acquisitively  we  fall. 

A  very  large  part  of  the  individual's  life  is  a  vicarious  living 
of  the  lives  of  others.  For  this  reason  we  can  rely  to  a  certain 
extent  upon  sympathy  for  the  co-operative  creation  of  oppor¬ 
tunity.  But  it  is  sadly  evident  that  such  motivation,  in  our 
present  degree  of  culture,  is  inadequate  to  our  dire  need  of 
social  peace  and  co-operation.  We  are  neither  sensitive  enough 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


263 


nor  intelligent  enongli  to  understand  the  truth  intuitively  ex¬ 
pressed  by  Jesus  in  his  query,  What  shall  it  profit  a  man  though 
lie  gain  the  whole  earth,  if  he  lose  his  soul?  We  are  still  too 
near  our  rough  ancestors  of  the  German  forests,  still  too  much 
under  the  spell  of  the  acquisitive  individualism  of  Manchester- 
ism  and  the  frontier  scramble  for  spoils.  Yet  there  is  a  real 
scientific  foundation  for  this  doctrine  of  “super-individualism.” 

That  society  is  a  co-operative  organization  for  the  production 
of  opportunity  may  be  a  truism  as  a  theory.  It  would  be  so 
in  fact  with  a  race  adequately  rationalized  and  socialized,  one 
that  had  no  holdover  characteristics  of  barbarism  and  had  re¬ 
covered  from  the  laissez  faire  individualism  of  means  of  the 
eighteenth  and  nineteenth  centuries.  It  is  noticeable  that  the 
nearer  one  gets  to  geographical  or  racial  frontiers  and  perhaps 
also  to  the  frontier  of  business,  the  more  people  talk  of  their 
“rights”  and  the  less  of  their  duties.  Considering  the  hold 
that  narrow  acquisitiveness  and  predatory  greed  still  have  on 
us,  we  will  risk  emphasizing  what  might  otherwise  be  regarded 
as  a  platitude. 

While  a  scientific  ethics  would  thus  seem  to  point  unmistak¬ 
ably  to  an  individualism  of  ends,  it  points  with  equal  sureness 
to  a  co-operation  or  sociality  of  means.  Put  in  another  way, 
individuals  (society)  are  means  in  their  co-operative  power  to 
create  opportunity,  but  opportunity  serves  an  end  only  for 
individuals. 

All  this,  however,  while  fundamental  and  necessary,  does  not 
throw  direct  light  on  the  ethics  of  the  interest  conflict  between 
conservative  and  radical.  Merely  to  show  that  the  individual  is 
end  and  society  means  does  not  solve  the  class  conflict. 

3.  D  emocracy 

In  the  present  alignment  of  conservatism  and  radicalism,  it 
happens,  as  has  been  common  throughout  history,  that  the 
radicals,  broadly  speaking,  stand  for  the  democratic  principle 
and  the  conservatives  on  the  whole  for  the  aristocratic.  The 
democrat  and  the  aristocrat  hold  very  different  theories  both 
of  ends  and  of  social  means.  We  are  thus  compelled  to  touch 
upon  the  meaning  of  democracy,  if  we  are  to  get  much  light  on 
the  ethics  of  the  interest  conflict  between  conservative  and 
radical. 


264  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

Most  of  what  has  thus  far  been  written  on  democracy  reveals 
little  understanding  that  democracy  can  mean  anything  but  a 
type  of  political  machinery  and  control.  According  to  this  con¬ 
ception,  democracy  has  to  do  with  means,  hardly  at  all  with 
ends. 

Political  democracy  may  or  may  not  be  the  best  conceivable 
form  of  organization  and  control.  It  is  probably,  however,  the 
form  that  will  come  nearest  to  insuring  that  which  we  shall 
shortly  define  as  the  essence  of  real  democracy.  But  it  will  be 
effective  toward  the  attainment  of  a  real  democracy  only  with 
a  people  educated  to  its  use.  It  is  easy  to  have  the  form  with¬ 
out  the  content,  for  what  looks  like  political  democracy,  in 
external  form  and  process,  may  be  in  reality,  as  is  well  known, 
a  veiled  plutocracy. 

If,  then,  we  direct  our  attention  to  the  more  fundamental 
question  of  ends,  the  answer  we  get  will  go  far  to  direct  the 
solution  of  the  problem  of  means — machinery  and  control.  If 
we  say  that  only  individuals  are  ends,  we  must  immediately 
be  confronted  with  the  query,  “What  individuals?”  Most 
radicals  will  at  once  answer,  “All  individuals,”  while  most  con¬ 
servatives  will  forthwith  object,  “No,  only  some!” 

Here,  consequently,  we  come  to  the  real  test  of  the  practical 
value  of  the  principle  of  individualism  of  ends  and  socialism 8 
of  means.  What  ground  is  there  for  regarding  all  individuals 
as  ends,  or  on  the  contrary,  only  some?  And  if  all  individuals 
are  to  be  regarded  as  ends,  are  they  all  equal  ends? 

Every  individual,  because  he  has  power  of  conscious  self-ex¬ 
pression  and  happiness,  is  not  only  an  end,  but  he  is  at  the  same 
time  a  means,  because  he  can  live  fully  only  to  the  extent  that 
he  contributes  his  services  and  capacities  to  the  general  co-oper¬ 
ative  process  of  creating  the  opportunities  under  which  self- 
expression  and  happiness  are  possible  for  any  one. 

But  neither  as  ends  nor  as  means  are  individuals  of  equal 
worth  or  importance.  Actually  and  potentially,  individuals  dif- 


8  It  is  needful  to  repeat  that  this  term,  as  here  used,  is  in  no  sense 
meant  to  suggest  any  particular  type  of  social  organization.  It  is  used 
merely  as  a  somewhat  more  euphonious  term  than  “sociality,”  or 
“mutualism,”  to  denote  the  essential  fact  that  all  means  to  the  fulfill¬ 
ment  of  individual  ends  are  social  and  co-operative — that  society1  is  the 
means. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


265 


fer,  both  in  capacity  for  self-expression  and  happiness  and  in 
their  power  to  contribute  to  the  co-operative  production  of 
opportunity.  They  differ  actually,  not  only  because  their  or¬ 
ganic  inheritances  are  diverse,  but  because  the  opportunities  for 
development  which  they  have  had  have  been  different.  They 
differ  potentially,  “  naturally,  ’  ’  to  the  extent  that  their  heredi¬ 
tary  endowments  differ. 

How  much  strictly  hereditary  capacity  differs  in  different 
individuals,  families,  or  races,  no  one,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  knows, 
and  we  are  not  likely  soon  to  know,  for  the  reason  that  close 
discrimination  between  the  hereditary  and  environmental  factors 
which  have  made  an  individual  what  he  is,  is  practically  an 
impossible  task. 

The  dead  level  theory  of  democracy  maintains  that  individ¬ 
uals  are  equal  in  native  capacity  and  hence  in  “ rights.’ ’  This 
theory,  which  few  informed  persons  now  hold,  practically 
denies  any  influence  to  heredity,  and  is  so  contrary  to  the  prob¬ 
abilities  of  the  case  that  it  need  not  detain  us.  Even  yet,  how¬ 
ever,  there  are  many  polemics  written  against  democracy  by 
persons  who  assume  that  it  means  this  dead  level  theory.  Such 
arguments  are  simply  waste  labor. 

While  no  reasonably  informed  person  to-day  would  attempt 
to  defend  the  thesis  that  all  individuals  are  equal  by  hereditary 
endowment,  there  has  been  on  the  other  hand  an  immense 
output  of  unwarranted  conclusions  as  to  natural  inequal¬ 
ity  and  the  scarcity  of  hereditary  capacity,  drawn  from  in¬ 
vestigations  which  have  purported  to  isolate  and  measure 
hereditary  capacity  (mental  as  well  as  physical).  In  most 
cases  such  investigation  can  be  shown  to  be  grossly  oblivious 
of  the  presence  of  probable  environmental  influences  in 
the  creation  of  talents  or  defects  which  it  has  taken  as  heredi¬ 
tary. 

Whatever  may  be  the  truth  about  natural  inheritance — 
whether  we  are  as  different  in  natural  endowments  as  eugen- 
ists  like  Pearson  and  Davenport  would  have  us  believe,  or  are 
more  nearly  equal  than  any  one  now  believes  we  are,  this  much 
should  be  clear :  we  cannot  on  scientific  grounds  condemn  an 
individual  to  inferior  status  and  deprive  him  of  opportunity 
before  he  has  been  tried  out  for  a  time  under  opportunities 
equal  to  those  granted  others.  There  is  much  that  goes  for 


266  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

hereditary  feeble-mindedness,  for  instance,  which  is  due  to  mal¬ 
nutrition  and  adenoids. 

Whatever  the  natural  distribution  of  potential  capacity  is, 
opportunity  should  be  distributed  to  individuals  in  proportion 
to  that  capacity.  Distribution  of  opportunity  is  a  matter  of 
economy  as  well  as  of  ethics — if  indeed  the  two  be  not  synony¬ 
mous.  Opportunity  is  limited,  and  it  should  be  dealt  out  where 
it  will  do  the  most  good.  To  distribute  opportunity  according 
to  the  dead  level  democratic  theory,  as  the  Communists  have 
attempted,  would  certainly  fall  short  of  ideal  economy,  and 
probably  fall  short  by  as  wide  a  margin  as  does  our  present 
distribution  by  status. 

Opportunity  is  restricted  fundamentally  by  the  limitation 
of  natural  resources,  secondarily  by  our  limited  technological 
capacity  to  utilize  economically  the  resources  we  have.  It  is 
not  only  business  that  needs  talent  of  the  first  grade;  society 
itself  needs  it,  in  self-protection  against  the  headlong  rush  of 
modern  business  to  squander  our  natural  resources  as  rapidly 
as  possible.  From  whatever  angle  the  situation  is  viewed,  we 
need  not  only  to  distribute  opportunity  (and  the  material  wealth 
and  income  on  which  it  is  based)  economically,  but  we  need 
above  all  to  discover,  develop,  conserve,  and  utilize  every  ounce 
of  human  capacity  we  can — barring,  of  course,  those  capacities 
which  are  wasteful  and  destructive  rather  than  serviceable. 

This  means  that  those  who  have  the  greatest  hereditary  capa¬ 
city  should  be  given  the  best  education  and  the  greatest  oppor¬ 
tunity  in  every  way  to  develop  their  talents.  The  only  excep¬ 
tion  to  this  rule  may  be  where  between  two  equal  potential 
talents  we  may  show  preference  for  the  one  the  services  of  which 
society  stands  in  the  most  need  at  the  time. 

To  each  individual,  opportunity  in  proportion  to  his  capacity, 
within  the  limits  of  the  total  opportunity  available  for  all ; 
and  from  each  individual,  service  in  proportion  to  his  developed 
capacity.  This  is  the  criterion  of  fundamental  democracy. 
Democracy,  instead  of  meaning  equality  of  opportunity,  means 
equity  of  opportunity,  together  with  service  proportionate  not 
to  reward  but  to  capacity. 

“Thus  understood,  democracy  holds  (1)  that  every  individual 
is  an  end  in  himself;  (2)  that  no  individual  is  to  be  regarded 
primarily  as  a  means  to  the  fulfillment  of  the  purposes  or 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


267 


desires  of  any  other  individual;  (3)  that  no  class  or  group  of 
individuals  is  to  be  regarded  primarily  as  a  means  to  the  in¬ 
terest  of  another  class  as  end;  (4)  that  opportunity,  and,  so  far 
as  opportunity  is  dependent  upon  them,  material  wealth  and 
income,  should  be  distributed  to  individuals  in  proportion  to 
capacity  and  willingness  to  use  it  for  the  collective  good;  (5) 
that  the  collective  good  will  reach  its  highest  mark  when  oppor¬ 
tunity,  which  at  best  is  limited  in  quantity  and  quality,  is 
distributed  so  that  each  individual  is  enabled  to  develop  his 
potential  powers  and  capacities  in  like  proportion  to  the  de¬ 
velopment  of  these  potentialities  in  every  other  individual;  (6) 
that  the  means  to  the  utilization  of  individual  capacity  and 
the  development  of  individual  happiness  can  be  found  only  in 
the  willing,  fair-minded  co-operative  work  of  individuals  and 
groups,  all  of  whom  accept  and  live  up  to  the  foregoing  prin¬ 
ciples.  Democracy,  in  other  words,  is  the  real  recognition  of 
each  individual  as  an  end,  and  an  economy  in  which  human 
powers  and  capacities  for  achievement,  service,  and  happiness 
are  symmetrically  developed,  wherever  found,  without  deference 
to  race,  sex,  language,  birth,  or  nationality.  As  a  philosophy  of 
means,  democracy  denotes  equity  of  opportunity  and  the  co-op¬ 
erative  use  of  human  and  natural  resources  to  produce  a  worthy 
life  for  individuals.  ’ ?  9 

While  we  cannot  give  the  matter  the  full  consideration  it 
ought  to  have,  it  should  be  distinctly  pointed  out  that  the  prob¬ 
lem  of  the  distribution  of  opportunity  and  the  population  prob¬ 
lem  are  very  intimately  related,  not  only  from  what  is  ordinarily 
known  as  the  economic  point  of  view  but  from  the  ethical  as 
well.  With  the  utmost  industry  and  technological  skill,  our 
productive  capacity  is  limited  by  the  limited  quantity  and 
quality  of  our  natural  resources.  We  can  for  a  time,  it  is  true, 
and  in  spite  of  uneconomical  distribution,  consume  and  waste 
our  material  resources  at  an  astounding  rate,  as  we  have  been 
doing  for  a  hundred  years.  But  future  generations  will  have 
to  pay  for  our  recklessness.  An  ethics  and  an  economy  not 
blindly  limited  to  the  interests  of  the  existing  generation  would 


9  A.  R.  Wolfe,  “Some  Psychological  Aspects  of  Industrial  Reconstruc¬ 
tion,”  Publications  of  the  American  Sociological  Society,  Vol.  XIV, 
1919,  pp.  74,  75. 


268  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

therefore  extend  the  principle  of  equity  of  opportunity  to 
include  the  oncoming  peoples  of  the  future. 

Leaving  the  future  out  of  account,  and  assuming  an  absence 
of  waste  in  current  production,  distribution,  and  consumption, 
population  movements  still  complicate  the  problem  of  demo¬ 
cratic  equity.  Beyond  a  certain  point,  further  increase  in 
population  cannot  fail  to  reduce  the  average  opportunity,  per 
capita,  available.  Suppose,  then,  that  the  size  of  the  population 
in  relation  to  the  available  natural  resources  were  such  that 
further  population  increase  would  reduce  average  income ;  and 
suppose  that  distribution  had  attained  approximate  equity. 
Then  if  certain  individuals  ignorantly  or  imprudently  cause  a 
further  increase  in  population,  are  those  already  here  in 
duty  bound  to  relinquish  a  part  of  the  opportunities  they 
have  enjoyed  in  order  to  give  the  newcomers  their  propor¬ 
tionate  share?  If  they  are,  and  did  there  not  arise  from 
any  quarter  effective  restrictions  on  multiplication,  it  is 
evident  that  democracy  might  lead,  as  Malthus  argued  of 
communism,  to  universal  poverty  or  the  virtual  disappear¬ 
ance  of  all  opportunity  save  that  of  unremitting  toil  to  maintain 
physical  existence.  Nevertheless,  there  is  no  escaping  the  fact 
that  no  baby  has  ever  yet  been  consulted  as  to  whether  it  should 
be  born  or  not.  And  if  parents  call  into  being  hordes  of  new 
and  unneeded  lives,  society  has  no  moral  right  to  make  the 
involuntary  newcomers  suffer  for  its  own  remissness  of  control. 
It  should  be  obvious  that  society — those  of  us  already  here — 
in  self-protection,  and  in  the  interests  of  utilizing  existing 
human  capacity,  indeed,  to  prevent  its  wholesale  waste  in  a  flood 
of  numbers,  must  devise  and  enforce  the  rational  limitation  of 
procreation.  Here  is  the  fundamental  ethical  necessity  and 
justification  of  birth  control.  The  optimum  relation  between 
population  and  resources,  once  attained,  must  be  protected  and 
maintained.  The  whole  principle  of  fundamental  democracy 
demands  it.10 

Let  us  now  glance  at  the  position  taken  by  aristocracy  with 
regard  to  the  problem  of  means  and  ends. 

Practically,  the  aristocracy  theory  takes  no  account  of  the 

10  This  position  was  explicitly  taken  by  John  Stuart  Mill  as  early 
as  1848.  See  his  Principles'  of  Economics,  Vol.  I,  Book  XX,  Ch.  XII. 
(American  edition,  Vol.  I,  pp.  444-447.) 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


269 


distinction  between  hereditary  and  environmental  differences; 
when  it  pretends  to  do  so,  it  merely  jumps  with  dogmatic  casu¬ 
istry  to  the  conclusion  that  those  individuals  who  now  enjoy 
the  greatest  opportunities  are  thereby  proved  to  be  from 
hereditarily  superior  stocks. 

The  aristocratic  theory  is  one  of  status.  The  privileged  aris¬ 
tocrat,  to  the  manor  born,  simply  takes  it  for  granted  that  he 
is  an  end  and  the  ‘dower  orders”  means.  Essentially  this  mod¬ 
ern  master-class  attitude  is  not  different  from  the  classical 
Greek’s  justification  of  slavery:  My  pursuit  of  happiness,  self- 
expression,  culture,  requires  leisure ;  if  I  have  leisure,  someone 
else  must  do  the  work;  the  barbarians  were  provided  by  the 
gods  for  that  purpose,  and  they  should  be  kept  in  that  status. 

This  master-class  attitude  lasted  almost  unbrokenly  down  to 
the  French  Revolution,  and  underwent  a  new  development  with 
the  rise  of  modern  capitalism  in  the  machine  era.  In  the  deter¬ 
mination  that  some  classes  shall  be  ends  and  other  classes  means 
lies  the  real  explanation  of  conservative  and  reactionary  opposi¬ 
tion  to  liberalism  and  radicalism.  Under  whatever  vagary  of 
idea  as  to  the  way  it  could  be  accomplished,  liberalism  and  radi¬ 
calism  have  fought  for  democracy,  equity  of  opportunity, 
co-operation  in  social  workmanship,  freedom  for  the  unfolding 
and  expression  of  individual  powers. 

The  privileged  had  freedom,  at  least  as  much  freedom  as  they 
could  appreciate.  The  “lower  orders,”  on  the  other  hand, 
condemned  by  hook  or  crook  of  historical  processes — one  is 
tempted  to  call  them  accident — to  the  servant  status,  and  admon¬ 
ished  by  all  the  principles  and  ruses  of  master-and-servant 
ethics  to  be  content  with  that  status,  naturally  groped  for 
liberty.  More  and  more  they  are  to-day  insisting,  in  action  if 
not  in  so  many  words,  that  they,  individually,  are  ends,  as  well 
as  means,  and  consequently  that  they  are  entitled  to  opportunity 
to  realize  themselves  as  ends. 

While  the  political  and  economic  trend  toward  individualism 
in  the  eighteenth  century  was  fundamentally  due  to  a  widening 
conviction  that  all  men  are  ends,  the  movement  worked  itself 
out  as  a  philosophy  of  means.  In  effect,  to  free  society  from 
the  master-and-servant  ethics,  the  revolutionary  philosophers 
took  the  extreme  position  that  social  control  has  no  other  politi¬ 
cal  or  economic  function  than  to  clear  the  track  and  prevent 


270 


CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 


fouling  in  the  race  of  individual  acquisitiveness.  The  old  bur¬ 
den  of  special  privilege,  prescriptive  rights,  and  restrictive  regu¬ 
lation  was  so  great  that  men  were  denied  the  opportunity  to 
help  themselves  by  their  own  effort  and  initiative.  The  very 
purpose  of  a  very  large  amount  of  this  old  regulation  had  been 
to  prevent  men  from  escaping  from  the  quasi-servile  status. 
There  were  thus  abundant  reason  and  justification  for  the  “sys¬ 
tem  of  natural  liberty  ”  developed  by  English  philosophers  from 
Hobbes  and  Locke  to  Adam  Smith,  and  in  France  by  the  bril¬ 
liant  pre-revolutionary  encyclopaedists  and  economistes. 

Thus  the  eighteenth  century  revolt  was  an  insistence  upon 
rights  (“natural”  rights)  rather  than  functions,  although  it 
would  be  truer  to  say  that  in  its  origins  it  grew  out  of  insistence 
upon  the  right  of  individuals  to  function  freely. 

In  Germanic  countries  and  generally  on  the  Continent,  out¬ 
side  of  France,  the  state  was  made  the  end,  and  so  much  empha¬ 
sis  was  placed  on  authoritatively  imposed  and  enforced  social 
co-operation  that  the  individual  was  lost  sight  of.  In  England, 
France,  and  America,  however,  the  individualistic  revolt  was 
so  complete  that  social  co-operation  was  thought  of  only  as  a 
by-product  of  individual  acquisitiveness.  Distributive  economy, 
the  discovery  and  conservation  of  individual  capacity,  its  utiliza¬ 
tion  to  the  best  social  advantage,  and  the  organization  of  social 
functions  for  the  positive  service  of  the  people,  were  frequently 
dismissed  in  pious  phrases  about  the  “economic  harmonies.” 
In  America,  they  were  smothered  under  a  flood  of  ignorant 
sentiment  and  rant  about  inexhaustible  resources,  boundless 
opportunity,  room  at  the  top,  and  the  American  citizen’s  supe¬ 
rior  ability  to  look  out  for  himself.  Even  the  (relatively) 
magnificent  educational  system  in  America  was  built  up  with 
primary  reference  to  the  needs,  not  of  social  co-operation,  but 
of  self-help. 

All  this  was  a  natural  and  inevitable  result  of  our  geogra¬ 
phical  situation,  our  economic  condition,  and  our  political  back¬ 
ground  here  in  America.  All  might  have  continued  to  be  very 
well  if  the  Industrial  Revolution  had  not  transformed  the  entire 
situation,  if  our  free  land  and  other  “boundless”  natural 
resources  had  held  out  and  not  been  handed  over  to  the  exploita¬ 
tive  activities  of  private  corporations,  and  if  we  had  not  grown 
from  a  handful  of  squabbling  but  industrious  colonists  to  a 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


271 


population  of  a  hundred  million  people,  some  not  so  industri¬ 
ous.  Hardly,  in  fact,  had  Englishmen,  Frenchmen,  and  Ameri¬ 
cans  acquired  the  right  of  individual  initiative  and  self-help, 
when  changing  technology  and  industrial  organization  largely 
nullified  that  right. 

Political  “democracy”  was  then  thought  of  as  the  road  of 
freedom,  and  adequate  expression  and  evidence  of  it.  Grad¬ 
ually,  however,  the  fact  that  manhood,  or  even  universal,  suf¬ 
frage  might  exist  contemporaneously  with  economic  vassalage 
became  clear.  The  right  to  vote  did  not  get  one  a  job,  though 
if  one  voted  right  one  might  retain  a  job  already  held.  The 
right  to  work,  to  freedom  of  contract,  to  acquire  superior 
income  and  property,  did  not  seem  to  have  the  old  real  content 
after  the  Western  World  became  thoroughly  industrialized  and 
individual  entrepreneurship  gave  way  to  corporate  organization 
and  financial  control,  and  the  “boundless”  resources  of  a  new 
country  had  nearly  all  been  appropriated  by  the  first  comers 
and  handed  down  in  the  family.  The  process  of  change  from 
“status  to  contract”  seemed  somehow  to  be  reversing  itself. 
Differential  status  was  creeping  back.  Labor,  as  capital  had 
done  from  the  start,  began  to  combine.  Freedom  of  contract 
was  no  longer  an  unquestioned  ideal.  Discipline  and  class 
solidarity  seemed  necessary  to  the  maintenance  of  any  oppor¬ 
tunity  above  a  subsistence  level.  Trade  unionism  and  then 
“radicalism”  of  every  hue  and  color  developed — all,  with  the 
exception  of  anarchism,  calling  for  more  co-operation  and  more 
control  as  the  way  to  freedom  and  opportunity. 

Traditional  American  “individualism”  and  “democracy” 
had  proved  in  some  essential  respects  a  failure.  The  aim  of 
true  democracy  of  opportunity  and  an  efficient  organization  of 
production  is  not  freedom  of  acquisition  but  a  symmetrical 
freedom  for  all  men  and  full  service  from  all  men.  A  serious 
alteration  must  doubtless  take  place  in  the  distribution  of 
material  income  before  we  can  approach  the  equity  of  oppor¬ 
tunity  which  constitutes  democracy,  but  if  any  one  instinct  is 
to  be  freed  by  democracy  it  is  the  instinct  of  workmanship  and 
not  that  of  acquisition. 

Radicalism,  and  to  a  lesser  degree  liberalism,  undoubtedly 
contemplate  a  reform  of  our  social  arrangements  such  as  will 
gradually  bring  about  this  necessary  redistribution  of  oppor- 


272  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

tunity.  In  that  sense  the  balked  desires  which  produce  radical¬ 
ism  belong  in  the  class  of  acquisitive  interests.  But  there  are 
reasons  to  believe,  as  we  have  seen,  that  the  radical  attack  on 
“  privilege  ”  goes  deeper.  Its  underlying  urge  to  social  reform 
is  not  so  much  to  raise  the  dollar  income  for  its  own  sake  as  it 
is  to  secure  a  fuller  measure  of  freedom  for  the  functioning  of 
individual  capacities  now  felt  to  be  atrophied  by  the  acquisitive, 
commercial  individualism  of  means  inherited  from  earlier  phil¬ 
osophies  and  earlier  social  conditions.  The  revolt  is  against  the 
unexpected  results  of  the  individualistic  revolution  of  the 
eighteenth  century. 

It  is  not  strange  that  a  remarkable  re-alignment  of  sentiment 
has  taken  place.  The  privileged  aristocrats,  who  in  the  eight¬ 
eenth  century  fought  economic  individualism  of  means  (free 
trade,  laissez  faire,  etc.)  and  opposed  the  extension  of  political 
democracy,  now  herald  helf-help  and  freedom  of  contract  as 
the  final  embodiment  of  economic  wisdom  and  social  morality, 
and  exhibit  surprise  that  the  masses  show  a  tendency  to  under¬ 
value  the  democratic  machinery  of  politics.  Liberals  and  radi¬ 
cals,  on  the  other  hand,  who  forced  through  the  program  of 
political  democracy  and  compelled  the  striking  off  of  many 
(not  all)  of  the  mediaeval  prescriptive  restrictions  on  self-help 
and  individual  energy,  now  turn  their  backs  on  individualism 
of  means  and  demand  new  measures  of  collective  control,  sur¬ 
passing  in  range  and  complexity  anything  to  be  found  in  the 
period  prior  to  the  Industrial  Revolution.  This  new  demand 
is  made,  of  course,  on  the  ground  that  changes  in  economic 
technology  and  financial  organization  and  control  have,  in  fact, 
rendered  individualism  of  means — self-help — impossible  in  prac¬ 
tice  and  dishonest  as  a  theory.  Continued  attempt  to  keep  up 
the  fiction  of  self-help  individualism  is  held  simply  to  cloud  the 
issue  in  a  mist  of  cant  phrases  and  specious  reasoning,  and  to 
throw  industrial  and  political  control  into  the  hands  of  vested 
interests  still  dominated  by  the  master-and-servant  ethics. 

We  have  now  developed  four  propositions  which  we  believe 
will  stand  the  test  of  objective  analysis,  and  which  accordingly 
can  be  used  in  estimating  the  ethics  of  the  present  attitudes 
of  conservatives  and  radicals.  These  propositions  are:  (1) 
individuals,  and  only  individuals,  are  ends;  (2)  individuals 
differ  in  potential  natural  capacity  and  hence  are  not  all  ends 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


273 


of  equal  magnitude;  (3)  economy  of  limited  resources  therefore 
demands  that  opportunity  be  distributed  to  individuals  pro  rata 
first  to  their  potential,  and  later  to  their  developed,  capacities; 
(4)  efficient  production  and  economical  distribution  of  oppor¬ 
tunity  cannot  be  obtained  by  any  laissez  faire  system  of  individ¬ 
ualistic  acquisition;  they  can  be  obtained  only  by  intelligently 
planned,  rationally  co-ordinated,  social  co-operation. 

If  the  foregoing  attempt  to  outline  the  foundations  of  an 
ethics  with  individualism  of  ends  as  its  cornerstone  be  accepted 
as  valid,  it  evidently  carries  some  very  direct  implications  as  to 
the  ethics  of  privilege  and  democracy;  and  hence  as  to  the 
ethics  of  conservatism  and  radicalism. 

From  the  standpoint  of  economy — development,  conservation, 
and  efficient  utilization  of  human  capacity — there  can  be  no 
question  that  democracy  as  here  defined,  namely,  equity  of 
opportunity  and  service  according  to  developed  capacity,  would 
give  us  the  ideal  distribution  and  the  most  productive  society 
possible.  To  the  extent  that  conservatism  stands  for  untested 
privilege  and  a  denial  of  equity  of  opportunity,  and  radicalism 
for  the  fundamental  economy  of  democracy,  ethical  justification 
is  on  the  side  of  radicalism  and  against  conservatism.  The 
staunch  defender  of  every  thing- just-as-it-is  would  have  to  show, 
or  at  least  to  believe,  that  present  distribution  is  substantially 
proportional  to  natural  capacity.  Few,  when  forced  squarely 
to  face  the  facts,  will  have  the  temerity  to  say  that  it  is.  Con¬ 
versely,  the  fanatical  egalitarian,  if  he  could  be  brought  to  drop 
his  fanaticism  long  enough  to  look  calmly  at  evidence  and  prob¬ 
abilities,  would  be  forced  to  admit  the  non-economy  of  dead-level 
democracy. 

The  problem  of  scientific  ethics  does  not  lie  in  a  choice  between 
these  extremes.  The  problem  lies  in  finding  out,  as  nearly  as 
is  scientifically  possible,  what  the  natural  capacities  of  individ¬ 
uals  are,  and  how  they  are  distributed  between  different  individ¬ 
uals.  Toward  the  solution  of  this  problem  we  have  scarcely 
made  a  beginning.  The  biologists  can  give  us  little  aid,  for  they 
are  not  able  to  experiment  with  human  heredity,  and  are 
handicapped  by  their  inability  to  isolate  the  hereditary  factors 
from  those  due  to  environment.  Much  aid  may  eventually  come 
from  the  development  of  the  art  of  psychological  tests.  But 
even  here  extreme  care  must  be  used  not  to  attribute  to  heredi- 


274  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

tary  talent  or  deficiency  what  may  very  well  be  due,  in  part 
at  least,  to  training,  education,  and  social  stimulus  in  general. 
There  is  reason  to  think  that  in  their  enthusiasm  over  a  new 
method  of  research  many  present-day  psychologists  are  some¬ 
what  remiss  in  keeping  this  necessary  caution  in  mind. 

For  a  long  time  to  come,  a  society  which  really  wished  to  be 
fair  and  economical  in  its  distribution  of  opportunity  would 
have  to  proceed  by  a  refined  and  orderly  trial-and-error  method. 
All  individuals  would  have  to  be  given  as  nearly  equal  environ¬ 
mental  stimulus  (education,  etc.)  as  possible,  clear  through  the 
formative  years  of  childhood  and  adolescence.  At  the  conclu¬ 
sion  of  such  a  period — or  even  earlier  in  cases  of  palpable 
mental  deficiency  or  superiority — the  psychological  testers 
could  be  called  in,  vocational  experts  summoned  for  advice,  and 
the  sheep  definitely  separated  from  the  goats. 

Needless  to  say,  it  is  not  likely  that  society  will  soon  adopt 
any  such  Platonic  plan  of  procedure.  Nevertheless  every  time 
we  enforce  a  compulsory  education  law  or  add  a  new  scholarship 
for  “worthy  and  indigent”  students,  or  take  a  child  away  from 
unfit  parents,  we  are  taking  a  step  along  the  road  which  led 
Plato  to  his  highly  democratic  suggestion  that  a  child  of 
“golden”  constitution,  wherever  born,  should  have  opportunities 
equal  to  the  best. 

It  may  be  objected,  of  course,  that  inasmuch  as  we  know  so 
little,  from  actual,  verifiable  scientific  observation  and  measure¬ 
ment,  as  to  the  part  played  by  difference  in  hereditary  endow¬ 
ment,  and  that  played  by  environmental  stimulus,  we  should 
let  things  go  on  as  they  are.  It  may  even  be  argued,  with 
considerable  show  of  reason,  that  in  many  particulars  we  now 
have  a  sort  of  inverted  democracy — in  that  we  give  to  inferior 
hereditary  endowment  opportunity  that  could  better  be  devoted 
to  individuals  of  demonstrated  capacity.  There  can  be  little 
question,  of  course,  that  many  wealthy  individuals  of  the  type 
that  cannot  or  will  not  use  opportunity  productively  owe  the 
opportunities  now  thrown  away  upon  them  to  gambling  luck 
or  to  the  exercise  of  anti-social  acquisitive  talents  which  it  would 
be  undesirable  to  encourage. 

Nevertheless,  it  would  probably  be  the  concensus  of  opinion, 
among  those  most  entitled  by  scientific  research  and  observation 
to  hold  opinions  on  the  subject,  that  we  do  not  come  now  any- 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


275 


where  as  near  as  we  could,  even  with  our  present  limited 
knowledge  of  human  heredity  and  social  psychology,  to  distrib¬ 
uting  opportunity  to  individuals  in  proportion  to  their  potential 
capacities.  And  whether  we  do  or  not,  it  is  patent  that  the 
growing  masses  of  radicals  do  not  think  we  do.  If  they  are 
wrong,  the  only  proof  that  will  still  their  clamor  is  a  prolonged 
experiment  under  conditions  in  which  special  privilege,  whether 
acquired  by  legal  inheritance  or  otherwise,  is  reduced  to  a 


minimum. 


CHAPTER  XI 


THE  ETHICS  OF  CONSERVATISM  AND  RADICALISM 

Generally  speaking,  it  follows  from  the  analysis  of  the 
two  preceding  chapters  that  the  ethics  of  conservatism 
and  radicalism  hinges,  as  to  motivation  and  results,  upon 
whether  they  aim  at  individualism  and  democracy  of  ends;  as 
to  method,  whether  they  pursue  their  social  diagnoses  and 
analyses  in  a  personalistic,  praise-and-blame  spirit  or  in  accord¬ 
ance  with  impersonal,  scientific  investigation ;  and  whether  they 
attempt  to  carry  out  their  purposes  and  designs  by  conflict  or 
by  co-operation.  In  suggesting  the  general  norms  of  scientific 
method,  individualism  of  ends,  democracy  of  opportunity,  and 
socialism 1  of  means,  we  do  not  intend  to  lay  down  absolutes. 
That  in  itself  would  be  a  violation  of  the  scientific  spirit.  Under 
certain  conditions  conflict  is  doubtless  unavoidable.  But  unless 
the  preceding  analysis  is  scientifically  ill-founded  and  logically 
confused,  these  are  the  standards  by  which  social  attitudes,  pur¬ 
poses,  and  movements  must  be  judged.  Justification  of  any 
avoidable  departure  from  them,  if  it  is  to  be  admitted,  must 
have  extraordinarily  good  grounds.  It  seems  clear  that  the 
principle  of  economy  would  put  opportunity  where  it  will  do 
the  most  good  both  in  “service’ ’  and  in  happiness.  It  would 
seem,  too,  that  the  world  had  experimented  with  the  conflict 
method  long  enough  to  begin  to  arrive  at  a  strong  suspicion 
that  the  co-operative,  constructive  method  will  produce  better 
results.  And,  finally,  unless  there  is  some  scientific  reason  for 
supposing  that  man  is  not  a  part  of  nature,  and  is  therefore 
exempt  from  its  laws,  the  scientific  method  of  investigating  and 
ordering  human  relations  may  be  expected,  when  really  applied, 
to  yield  results  far  preferable  to  those  produced  by  the  motor- 
habituations,  the  superstitious  sentimentalism,  the  dogmatic 
loyalties,  and  the  weddedness  to  rationalized  illusions  which 

1  See  the  caution,  page  264,  as  to  the  sense  in  which  this  word  is  here 
used. 


276 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  277 

have  thus  far  been  man’s  chief  guides  in  social  organization 
and  social  process.2 

But  to  point  out  general  norms,  however  concrete  and  free 
from  metaphysical  abstraction  and  unreality  they  may  be,  is 
not  sufficient.  There  should  be  a  detailed  consideration  of 
conservatism  and  radicalism,  as  well  as  other  social  attitudes, 
in  the  light  of  these  ideal  standards.  All  we  can  attempt  here 
is  comment  on  certain  salient  points,  in  the  hope  that  independ¬ 
ent  critical  and  constructive  thought  may  be  stimulated. 

Let  us  take  first  disinterested  conservatism.  What  is  the 
ethics  of  its  fundamental  characteristics,  habit  and  fear?  The 
ethics  of  habit  depends  upon  the  extent,  the  intensity,  and  the 
incidence  of  habituation,  that  is,  upon  how  much  we  are  habitu¬ 
ated,  and  to  what.  If  we  are  habituated  to  the  things  which 
are  inimical  to  democratic,  co-operative  individualism,  and  to 
scientific  method,  our  habituation  is  unethical,  at  least  from 
any  constructive  point  of  view,  from  the  standpoint  of  ‘  ‘  creative 
intelligence.”  In  this  regard  the  case  for  conservatism  is  not 
a  strong  one.  The  more  conservative  a  man  is,  the  more  inten¬ 
sively  and  extensively  he  is  habituated  to  things-as-they-are. 
That  means  that  he  is  uncritically  and  quietistically  content 
with  a  distant  and  equivocal  approach  to  democracy,  and  that 
he  probably  shows  slight  interest  in  the  application  of  scientific 
method  to  the  settling  of  interest  conflicts  and  the  better  order¬ 
ing  of  social  relations.  Complete  habituation  would  be  destruc¬ 
tive  of  conscious  living  because  it  would  reduce  all  our  acts  to 
automatic  reflexes.  A  certain  amount  of  habituation  is  necessary 
and  a  matter  of  organic  economy,  but  the  habituation  of  the 
happily  functioning  and  productive  citizen  should  be  like  the 
repose  of  a  Greek  statue.  The  repose  is  there,  but  there  is 
also  readiness  and  poise  for  instant  action. 

The  other  psychological  element  of  conservatism,  as  we  saw, 
is  fear,  the  impulse  to  avoidance.  The  ethics  of  fear,  also, 
depends  upon  what  one  is  afraid  of,  and  upon  the  intensity 
of  the  fear  and  the  extent  to  which  it  is  objectively  rational. 
Animals  have  instinctive  fears  and  are  not  ashamed  of  them. 
Man  has  some  remnants  of  instinctive  fears  and  a  whole  regi¬ 
ment  of  fears  acquired  and  institutionally  inculcated.  Man  is 


2  Cf.  J.  H.  Robinson,  The  Mind  in  the  Making,  1922,  Ch.  1. 


278  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

more  or  less  ashamed  of  his  fears;  he  has  accordingly  been 
fertile  in  casuistical  justification  of  them;  and  he  is  intolerant 
of  persons  who  put  him  to  shame  by  not  sharing  them  or  by 
not  accepting  his  rationalizations. 

These  rationalizations,  illusional  as  many  of  them  are,  are 
highly  respectable.  Not  to  accept  them  at  their  face  value,  or 
at  least  not  to  appear  to  do  so,  is  to  run  the  risk  of  social 
disapprobation.  Fear  of  social  disapprobation  is  essentially 
motivation  by  respectability.  The  ethics  of  such  motivation 
obviously  depends  upon  the  standards  of  respectability,  as  well 
as  upon  the  amount  of  mental  or  verbal  dishonesty,  or  more 
mildly  put,  disingenuousness,  which  desire  to  conform  to  canons 
of  respectability  involves.  Did  the  norms  of  respectability 
always  coincide  with  those  of  democratic  individualism  and 
scientific  objectivity,  respectability-motivation  would  not  be 
obstructive  of  progress.  In  other  words  respectability  would 
not  be  a  device  of  conservatism  and  reactionism.  To  a  great 
extent,  however,  the  standards  of  respectability  are  those  of 
unthinking  habituation,  and  of  the  emulated  prestiges  and  point 
of  view  of  the  privileged  vested  interests.  To  the  extent  that 
the  conventions  of  respectability  are  set  by  those  whose  interest 
it  is  to  oppose  democracy  of  opportunity,  co-operative  efficiency 
in  production,  and  the  development  of  scientific  rationalism, 
respectability-motivation  must  be  set  down  as  unethical. 

The  ethics  of  the  conservative’s  fear  of  the  new  and  unfa¬ 
miliar  depends  (1)  on  whether  he  fears  it  because  he  thinks 
that  it  will  (or  will  not)  be  conducive  to  democracy  and  scien¬ 
tific  rationalism,  and  (2)  on  whether  the  fear  is  founded  on 
objective  analysis  of  available  factual  data.  If  the  fear  is  based 
on  a  factually  well-grounded  conviction  that  a  proposed  inno¬ 
vation  will  impair  irrational  habituations  or  reduce  special 
privilege,  it  is  unethical.  If  it  is  a  fear  not  factually  supported 
that  the  innovation  will  be  harmful  to  democracy  and  objec¬ 
tivity,  it  is  scarcely  less  unethical.  Fear,  like  habit,  has  legiti¬ 
mate  and  important  social  functions,  but  to  function  in  accord¬ 
ance  with  the  ethical  standards  which  we  have  arrived  at,  it 
must  be  an  objectively  informed  fear  of  those  things  which 
would  not  be  conducive  to  an  approach  to  democratic  individ¬ 
ualism,  co-operative  creation  of  opportunity,  and  diffusion  of 
the  scientific  attitude  and  method. 

The  process  of  repression  and  sublimation  instituted  by  the 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


279 


fear  motive  may  at  times  and  in  a  measure  be  necessary  to 
democracy  and  objectivity.  But  it  is  certain  that  repression 
and  sublimation  mean  the  loss  of  a  vast  amount  of  personal 
energy  which  would  yield  more  productive  results,  both  for 
the  individual  himself  and  for  society  at  large,  were  the  per¬ 
sonality  allowed  greater  freedom.  Respectability-motivation  is 
one  of  the  chief  sources  of  conservative  repression  and  sublima¬ 
tion.  It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that  its  repressive  influence 
is  less  than  it  would  be  were  there  a  smaller  amount  of  “make- 
believe”  in  our  respectability. 

From  the  standpoint  of  objective  ethics,  not  a  great  deal  can 
be  said  for  other-worldliness  and  self-sacrifice,  the  favorite 
sublimative  devices  recommended  by  the  leaders  of  certain  insti¬ 
tutions  and  established  interests,  nor  for  the  more  popular 
devices  of  gossip,  scandal,  and  commercialized  sensation  ( e.g 
the  movies  and  baseball).  Whether  so  designed  or  not,  their 
actual  effect  is  to  distract  attention  from  our  deficiency  in 
democracy  and  scientific  rationalism,  to  relieve  momentarily  the 
tension  of  balked  desire,  without  removing  the  causes  of  desire- 
obstruction,  and  to  drain  off  intermittently  the  forces  of  pop¬ 
ular  unrest  into  innocuous  but  futile  channels  of  dalliance.  At 
the  present  time,  it  is  true,  when  the  world  is  still  suffering  from 
war  psychoses,  and  unrest  is  likely  to  wreck  itself  in  the  futility 
of  mob  violence,  these  sublimative  devices  may  serve  a  tem¬ 
porary  good  purpose.  But  as  a  settled,  continuous  policy  for 
dealing  with  social  discontent  they  have  practical  drawbacks 
as  well  as  obvious  ethical  shortcomings.3 

The  motive  to  interested  conservatism  lies  in  the  desire  either 
for  security  or  for  privilege.  Where  the  desire  is  for  security, 
interested  conservatism  may  not  differ  much  from  disinter¬ 
ested.  Within  limits,  desire  for  security  is  justifiable.  It  is  com¬ 
mon  to  all  men.  So  far  as  measurable  security  is  an  essential  con¬ 
dition  to  life,  liberty,  and  happiness,  security  is  not  only  a  right, 
but  a  duty.  Desire  for  a  competence  of  property,  or  steady  and 
adequately  remunerative  employment,  or  provision  against 
sickness  and  old  age,  makes  for  conservatism ;  and  while  such 
security  may  be  gained  by  individuals  at  the  expense  of  a 
development  of  the  much-needed  sense  of  social  sympathy,  that 


8  For  a  popular  sketch  of  some  of  these  sublimative  devices,  see  Ross 
Principles  of  Sociology,  1920,  pp.  201-205. 


280  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

does  not  alter  the  basic  fact  that  in  the  absence  of  security 
there  would  be  little  production  of  opportunity  for  anybody. 
Where  individual  security  is  not  obtained,  or  maintained,  at 
the  cost  of  insecurity  of  others,  or  of  uneconomical  (non-demo- 
cratic)  distribution  of  opportunity,  it  wmuld  seem  to  be  in 
accord  with  the  demands  of  objective  ethics. 

When,  however,  the  acquiring  or  maintaining  of  security 
involves  insecurity  for  others,  security  becomes  special  privilege, 
and  its  ethical  quality  is  not  so  clear.  Were  it  not  for  the 
difficulty  introduced  by  population  growth,  and  the  impossi¬ 
bility  of  providing  security  and  opportunity  for  all  the  new 
individuals  improvident  folk,  following  their  undisciplined 
instincts,  may  bring  into  the  world,  we  might  conclude  that 
all  privilege,  in  the  sense  of  security  maintained  in  the  face 
of  insecurity  of  others,  is  unethical.  This  position  would  be 
tenable,  however,  only  in  a  society  which  succeeded  in  main¬ 
taining  an  informed  and  scientifically  rational  policy  with 
regard  to  population  increase.  As  between  the  living,  special 
privilege  may  be  defined  as  a  right  to  enjoy  an  opportunity, 
or  an  exemption  from  service,  which  cannot  be  justified  by  the 
democratic  criterion  of  distribution.  In  this  sense,  privilege 
is  to  be  regarded  as  unethical. 

There  are  probably  many  more  interested  conservatives  who 
are  motivated  by  a  justifiable  desire  for  security  than  those  who 
are  motivated  by  desire  for  privilege,  but  the  latter  are 
immensely  the  more  powerful,  energetic,  and  unscrupulous  in 
defending  and  furthering  their  “rights.”  Their  whole  tone 
is  likely  to  be  formalistic,  and  the  corporate  organization  and 
absentee  ownership  of  modern  industrial  property  tend  to  make 
them  cynically  legalistic.  Not  only  do  they  go  as  far  as  the 
law  allows,  and  not  infrequently  even  a  little  further,  but 
wherever  they  can  they  make  the  laws  to  suit  their  own  inter¬ 
ests.  The  ruling  moral  code  of  the  commercial  vested  interests 
is  a  code,  based  upon  a  narrow  and  unscrupulous  selfishness.  The 
vested  interests  constantly  dwell  upon  their  rights,  and  upon 
the  iniquity  of  any  social  change  which  would  limit  those  rights, 
no  matter  how  much  nearer  such  change  might  bring  us  to 
an  efficient  economy  of  production  and  a  democratic  distribu¬ 
tion  of  opportunity.  Amid  a  welter  of  casuistic  rationalization] 
the  clear  fact  emerges  that  the  vested  interests  do  not  want 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  281 

social  economy  if  it  means  equity  of  opportunity  and  curtail¬ 
ment  of  any  of  their  differential  privileges. 

That  this  attitude  toward  life  narrows  the  individual,  how¬ 
ever  great  his  privileges  may  be,  needs  no  further  argument. 
Its  main  motive  is  acquisitiveness.  Workmanship  instincts,  sen¬ 
sitiveness,  and  sympathy,  tend  to  go  by  the  board,  except  as 
they  may  be  saved,  through  mental  compartmentization,  to 
function  narrowly  within  limited  circles,  family,  personal 
friends,  etc.  Moreover,  such  an  attitude  compels  all  to  live 
the  pig-trough  life.  It  leaves  little  or  no  room  for  the  spread 
and  development  of  aesthetic  taste  and  artistic  activity.  It  is 
the  chief  positive  force  which  prostitutes  religion  to  formalism 
and  cant.  As  a  result,  the  cynical,  privileged  conservative 
defeats  himself.  He  may  gain  the  earth,  but  he  loses  his  soul, 
through  the  atrophy  of  disuse. 

In  this  conclusion,  scientific  ethics  and  Christian  ethics  will  be 
at  one,  as  indeed  they  are  at  many  points.  There  is  nothing 
in  either  to  justify  individualism  of  means  under  conditions  in 
which  all  have  not  a  fair  start ;  or  distribution  of  opportunity 
on  the  basis  of  privilege  unsupported  by  tested  capacity;  or 
any  form  of  exploitative  acquisition.  Yet,  broadly  speaking, 
these  are  the  ethical  norms  and  the  proximate  aims  of  the 
powerful  privileged  classes. 

Turning  to  the  ethics  of  the  motivation  of  radicalism,  which 
we  have  found  mainly  in  obstructed  interests,  it  does  not  appear 
that  a  balked  desire  is  necessarily  a  good  desire.  Nor  on  the 
other  hand,  does  it  follow  that  it  is  bad  simply  because  the 
existing  standards  and  organization  of  society  prevent  its  real¬ 
ization. 

Insofar  as  the  radical’s  desires  are  merely  of  the  emulatively 
acquisitive  order,  a  determination  to  get  his  feet  into  the 
trough  where  the  interested  conservative  already  has  his,  there 
is  little  to  choose  between  the  two,  unless  it  can,  be  shown  that 
realization  of  the  radical’s  acquisitive  impulses  would  bring  us 
nearer  to  the  ideal  of  economical  distribution  of  opportunity 
and,  service.  Judgment  on  this  point  will  doubtless  vary  accord¬ 
ing  to  specific  cases  and  circumstances. 

How  much  radical  motivation  is  materialistically  and  nar¬ 
rowly  selfish,  we  shall  not  attempt  to  say.  In  a  society  in  which 
standards  of  respectability  and  prestige  are  currently  set  in 


282  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

terms  of  wealth  and  industrial  exemption,  it  is  not  improbable 
that  materialistic  emulation  plays  no  small  part  in  the  produc¬ 
tion  of  radical  unrest.  But  there  can  be  no  question  that  an 
immense  amount  of  radicalism  is  based  on  sympathy  and  on 
outraged  sentiments  of  artistry  and  workmanship.4  In  any 
case  we  are  estopped  from  preaching  thrift  and  ambition  and 
at  the  same  time  condemning  the  radical  for  demanding  oppor¬ 
tunity  to  enjoy  a  measure  of  the  material  blessings  which  we 
ourselves  pursue  with  such  whole-hearted  abandon. 

Barring  the  tendency  to  personalistic  blame  reactions,  which 
is  a  matter  of  method  rather  than  motive,  it  is  probable  that 
the  motivation  of  radicalism  more  nearly  conforms  to  the  stand¬ 
ards  indicated  by  an  objective  ethics  than  does  that  of  conserv¬ 
atism.  If  the  radical  demands,  as  he  does,  a  higher  material 
standard  of  living,  that  demand  can  be  refused  on  ethical 
grounds  only  if  it  can  be  shown  that  its  fulfillment  would 
result  in  undemocratic  and  uneconomical  inequity  of  distribu¬ 
tion.  If  the  conservative  has  surrounded  himself,  from  fear, 
with  a  shell  of  sublimation  and  rationalization,  and  the  radical 
refuses  to  shelter  himself  in  a  similar  refuge,  that  refusal  is 
no  argument  that  the  radical’s  insistent  demand  for  freedom 
has  not  both  theoretical  and  practical  ethical  foundation.  And 
if  the  radical  demands  democracy  because  he  lacks  opportu¬ 
nity,  and  the  conservative  is  luke-warm  toward  democracy  be¬ 
cause  he  has  all  the  opportunity  he  wants  or  knows  how  to  use, 
neither  is  that  any  very  clear  indication  that  the  conservative 
is  right  and  the  radical  wrong. 

In  other  words,  insofar  as  our  present  social  organization 
fails  to  approximate  to  the  ethical  ideal  “to  each  according  to 
his  capacity,  within  the  scope  of  opportunity  for  all,  and  from 
each  according  to  his  capacity  and  according  to  the  needs  of 
socially  co-operative  production,”  and  to  the  extent  that  it  can 
be  shown  that  the  freedom  and  democracy  of  control  desired 
by  the  radical  would  bring  us  nearer  to  this  ideal  economy,  the 
balance  of  ethical  justification,  so  far  as  motive  goes,  lies  with 
the  radical.  But  the  radical  has  no  more  right  to  acquire  an 
opportunity  that  he  cannot  use  than  the  conservative  has  to 
maintain  a  privilege.  The  democratic  criterion  of  distribu- 


2  See  above,  p.  136. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


283 


tion  might  be  as  disappointing  to  some  radicals,  if  actually 
realized,  as  it  is  distasteful  to  the  vested-interest  conservative. 

Turning  from  motive  to  method,  the  chief  ethical  interest 
attaches  to  the  methods  of  vested-interest  conservatism  and  of 
radicalism. 

Of  the  ethics  of  certain  methods,  whether  practiced  by  con¬ 
servative  or  radical,  it  is  unnecessary  to  speak.  Claptrap  and 
chicane,  with  their  attendant  tribe  of  disingenuous  and  worked- 
up  sentimentalisms,  bribery  (if  not  patronage),  and  the  emas¬ 
culation  of  political  democracy  through  vested-interest  control 
of  politico-business  machines  should  all  stand  condemned  in  the 
judgment  of  fair-minded  persons.  The  case  for  or  against  the 
other  methods,  force,  intimidation,  economic  pressure,  espion¬ 
age,  censorship,  and  propaganda  is  no£  so  clear-cut,  and  no 
categorical  answer  can  be  given. 

Resort  to  force  or  intimidation  in  an  interest  conflict  is  evi¬ 
dence  that  one  or  both  of  the  parties  to  the  issue  have  not 
reached  the  rational  attitude  required  for  the  type  of  conduct 
demanded  by  objective  ethics.  Between  two  individuals,  or  two 
nations,  which  lived  up  to  the  principles  of  a  thoroughly  broad¬ 
minded  and  rational  democracy  there  could  be  no  resort  either 
to  force  or  to  intimidation,  any  more  than  there  could  be 
between  two  genuine  Christians. 

Since,  however,  the  complete  Christian  or  the  rational  and 
socialized  democrat,  did  either  actually  exist,  would  find  him¬ 
self,  the  world  being  what  it  is,  ever  and  anon  confronted  with 
individuals  bent  on  domination  and  exploitation,  what  would 
he  do?  Not  to  resist  such  aggression  would  be  practically  to 
turn  the  world  over  to  their  ilk  and  thus  destroy  any  chance 
for  the  growth  of  justice  and  rational  ethics.  Both  force  and 
intimidation  therefore  find  in  practice  some  justification.  We 
see  here  that  judgment  as  to  method,  based  on  objective,  factu¬ 
ally-supported  ethical  grounds,  is  not  a  simple  matter.  What¬ 
ever  may  be  the  ultimate  objective  ethical  ideal,  a  practical 
objective  ethics  has  to  work  with  and  in  the  world  as  it  is. 
Some  compromise  between  what  would  be  ideally  permissible 
and  what  is  practically  expedient  or  possible  must  be  made. 
The  real  problem  is  to  make  no  compromise  which  departs  fur¬ 
ther  from  ideal  standards  than  is  unavoidable.  Neither  force 
nor  intimidation  can  be  justified  in  practice  further  than  is 


284  CONSEEYATISM,  RADICALISM 

essential  for  the  protection  of  such  approximation  to  demo¬ 
cratic  individualism  and  social  co-operation  as  we  have  already 
reached.  Not  all  types  of  force  and  intimidation  are  to  be 
countenanced  even  for  this  purpose.  Nor  have  force  and  inti¬ 
midation,  ostensibly  used  for  the  protection  of  social  order  and 
democracy,  but  really  to  prevent  nearer  approach  to  democ¬ 
racy,  any  ethical  sanction. 

It  is  significant  that  even  now  the  use  of  force,  in  civilized 
countries,  is  currently  proclaimed  justifiable  only  as  a  defensive 
measure.  At  least  such  was  the  case  before  the  World  War. 
Actually,  of  course,  this  is  a  sentiment  which  we  are  very  far 
from  living  up  to.  Self-defense  is  the  habitual  pleading  of 
those  who  either  have  a  poor  case  or  do  not  wish  to  show  their 
hand.  No  small  part  of  the  chicane  of  vested  interests  is  just 
this  sort  of  sheep’s  clothing  for  wolfish  designs. 

Much  the  same  considerations  apply  to  economic  pressure  as 
apply  to  force  and  intimidation.  Pressure  is  justifiable  only 
when  unavoidable,  and  then  only  in  defense  of  rights  or  rela¬ 
tions  which  are  themselves  proper  on  grounds  of  an  objective, 
democratic  ethics.  From  the  point  of  view  of  psychological 
expediency,  pressure  can  rarely  be  regarded  as  desirable.  It  is 
now  well  recognized  that  pressure  and  threats  generate  re¬ 
prisal  attitudes ;  in  industrial  relations,  for  example,  in  the 
form  of  withheld  effort  by  the  worker,  and  a  frame  of  mind 
incompatible  with  good  will  and  co-operation.  Economic  pres¬ 
sure  as  exerted  by  the  great  vested  interests,  to  freeze  out  the 
small  producer  through  unfair  competition,  os*  to  starve  labor 
into  submission,  can  be  justified  neither  upon  grounds  of  ex¬ 
pediency  nor  of  fundamental  ethical  norms.  It  is  in  practice 
intimidation  for  the  narrowest  selfish  ends,  without  even  dis¬ 
tant  reference  to  any  other  principles  than  those  of  class  power 
and  acquisitiveness.  It  belongs  to  an  ignorant  ethics  on  the 
tooth-and-claw  level. 

Espionage  and  censorship  come  near  to  belonging  in  the  same 
category.  They  can  in  extreme  cases  perhaps  be  justified  as 
methods  of  self-defense,  but  their  use  is  inexpedient  if  our 
care  be  to  develop  rational  co-operation.  Censorship  rests  upon 
fear — fear  of  the  other  fellow’s  arguments  or  sentiments.  It 
thus  betrays  a  lack  of  confidence  in  one’s  own  case,  or  in  the 
attitudes  which  the  populace  may  assume.  If  the  latter,  it  is 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


285 


a  confession  that  the  populace  has  not  been  educated  to  a  plane 
where  it  ceases  to  be  a  prey  to  every  shifting  vagary  of  inter¬ 
ested  propaganda.  This  is  perhaps  true,  but  the  way  to  ration¬ 
alize  and  stabilize  public  sentiment  nevertheless  does  not  lie 
through  censorship.  Those  who  advocate  or  resort  to  censor¬ 
ship  of  the  other  party’s  propaganda  would  be  the  loudest  in 
their  objections  to  any  curtailment  of  their  own  propagandiz¬ 
ing.  Those  who  desire  interference  with  the  freedom  of  teach¬ 
ing  and  preaching  are  usually  interested,  not  in  scientific  objec¬ 
tivity  or  in  intellectual  honesty,  but  in  maintaining  inherited 
creeds,  dogmatisms,  and  special  interests  by  intimidation.  Such 
persons  cannot  be  influenced  by  evidence  or  argument. 

Those  who  see  the  intellectual  and  moral  necessity  for  free¬ 
dom  of  thought  and  speech  need  no  long  disquisition  upon  its 
ethics.  Let  it  suffice  to  say  that  to  the  extent  that  we  desire 
good  will,  rational  discussion  on  an  impersonal  plane,  and  objec¬ 
tive  attitudes,  we  will  discourage  all  interference  with  expres¬ 
sion,  even  the  expression  of  foolishness. 

That  this  desire  is  far  from  prevalent,  however,  is  evidenced 
not  only  in  industrial  affairs  and  by  the  hue  and  cry  against 
“radicalism,”  but  by  the  great  number  of  sectarian  schools 
iff  which  critical,  objective  teaching  has  only  a  precarious  foot¬ 
hold  and  students  are  permitted  to  hear  no  teacher  who  does 
not,  nominally  at  least,  subscribe  to  the  authoritarian  creeds.  In 
however  good  a  cause  it  may  be  conceived  to  be,  such  censor¬ 
ship  makes  education  the  handmaid  of  propaganda.  From  such 
institutions  liberally  educated  men  and  women  cannot  be  looked 
for. 

On  a  somewhat  different  footing,  but  still  of  doubtful  ethics 
and  expediency,  is  the  closing  of  the  supposedly  “open”  plat¬ 
forms  of  college  and  university  student  open  forum  clubs  to 
speakers  whose  sentiments  or  whose  mode  of  presentation  the 
administrative  officials  disapprove.  Doubtless  much  that  is 
foolish  and  extreme  would  be  said  were  entire  freedom  given 
for  such  addresses.  But  the  plea  that  students  must  be  “pro¬ 
tected”  from  propaganda  is,  if  not  transparently  thin,  in  any 
case  ill-considered.  For  students  will  certainly  go  out  into  a 
world  which  is  honeycombed  with  propagandas,  and  it  would 
seem  that  a  part  of  their  scientific,  objective  training  might 
well  be  to  analyze  the  logic,  sentiment,  and  methods  of  those 


286  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

who  make  a  business  of  propagandizing.  Moreover,  if  a  de¬ 
tached  objectivity  is  the  purpose  of  these  academic  censorships, 
why  do  we  never  read  that  reactionaries  and  interested  con¬ 
servatives  have  been  forbidden  to  present  their  views  to  “  imma¬ 
ture  youth”?  The  plain  fact  is  that  the  censorship  net  is  so 
meshed  that  while  it  may  catch  radical  propaganda,  the  con¬ 
servative  passes  through  with  ease. 

The  essential  difference  between  propaganda  and  education 
is  that  propaganda  is  ex  parte ,  while  education  is,  or  should 
be,  scrupulously  objective.  Ex  parte  education  can  hardly  be 
distinguished  from  propaganda.  And  this  is  what  many  con¬ 
servatives  and  dogmatic  radicals  want  when  they  advocate  ‘  ‘  edu¬ 
cation.”  The  less  tolerant  of  fair  opposition  propaganda  is, 
the  less  ethical  justification  it  has.  Disguised  propaganda  is  to 
be  unequivocally  condemned.  This  includes  propaganda  mas¬ 
querading  as  news,  as  nonpartisan  information  or  “scientific” 
objective  education,  as  well  as  propaganda  under  the  disguise 
of  amusement.  To  be  condemned,  also,  is  propaganda  forced 
upon  people,  and  that  which  takes  advantage  of  ignorance  and 
of  ideo-motor  and  emotional  temperaments.  All  such  propa¬ 
ganda  is  tinctured  with  chicane.5 

Much  could  be  said,  both  on  the  mechanism  of  the  control 
of  public  sentiment,  and  on  the  ethical  questions  raised  by  the 
exceedingly  large  role  which  propaganda,  both  overt  and  con¬ 
cealed,  plays  in  such  control.6 

During  war  time,  it  seems  now  taken  for  granted  that  public 
sentiment  is  to  be  inspired  and  “molded”  by  every  available 
device  of  official  and  irresponsible  private  censorship  and  propa¬ 
ganda.  Americans  knew  that  this  was  being  done  in  Germany, 
and  now  the  Germans  know  it  themselves.7  We  were  not  so 
vividly  conscious  that  the  same  thing  was  being  done  in  Eng- 

5  Take  as  a  small  illustration  the  exploitation  of  the  sentiments  of 
children  by  the  special  interests  which  sometimes  offer  prizes  to  school 
children  for  the  “best  essay”  on  why  one  should  be  thus  and  so.  It  goes 
without  saying  that  a  child  who  wrote  a  critical  essav  on  “One  Hundred 
Per  Cent  Americanism”  for  the  average  patriotic  society  would  stand 
small  chance  of  landing  the  prize. 

6  For  a  recent  discussion,  rather  diffuse,  but  concrete  and  suggestive, 
see  Walter  Lippmann,  Public  Opinion ,  1922. 

7  See,  for  example,  Hellmut  von  Gerlach,  “The  German  Mind,”  Atlan¬ 
tic  Monthly,  Feb.,  1922,  pp.  246-258. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  287 

land  and  France,  and  are  not  yet  fully  cognizant  of  the  extent 
to  which  it  was  done  in  the  United  States.8 

It  is  not  to  be  insinuated  in  any  way  that  motives  ulterior  to 
those  of  national  safety  and  honor  actuated  this  control.  But 
the  student  of  the  moral  aspects  of  propaganda  in  relation  to 
public  sentiment  and  attitudes  will  learn  much  from  a  study 
of  the  methods  used  in  war  time,  whether  in  Europe  or  in 
America.  He  will  have  much  food  for  thought  with  regard 
to  the  intellectual  and  moral  integrity,  and  the  ability  of  a 
population  long  habituated  to  this  kind  of  manipulation  ever 
to  take  objective  attitudes.  He  may  set  the  results  down  as  one 
of  the  necessary  moral  costs  of  war,  but  he  should  go  on  to  in¬ 
quire  how  far  similar  methods  are  common  in  peace  time,  and 
what  are  their  probable  psychological  and  moral  results.  It  is 
safe  to  say  that  where  news  and  “education”  are  carefully 
censored  in  the  interest  of  propaganda,  no  matter  how  admir¬ 
able  the  aim  of  the  propaganda  may  be,  any  real  democracy  of 
control  becomes  an  impossibility,  and  the  development  of  an 
objectively  informed  and  balanced  public  opinion  is  held  in 
check  by  a  mass  of  inspired  subjective  prejudices.  The  scientific 
spirit  cannot  flourish  in  a  population  in  which  primitive  herd 
instincts  are  perpetually  stimulated.  If  this  is  to  be  the  process 
of  “democratic”  government,  there  is  valid  basis  for  all  the 
cynicism  prevalent  about  “democracy.” 

The  ethics  of  radical  method,  fully  treated,  would  involve 
consideration  both  of  modes  of  diagnosis  (blame-anger  reac¬ 
tions  vs.  rational  analysis)  and  of  attack — the  actual  policy  of 
radical  movements. 

We  have  tried  to  show  that  the  blame  impulse,  while  a  natural 
one,  must  be  ruled  out  of  the  ethics  of  the  highly  developed  and 
rationalized  state,  except  when  consciously  and  premeditatedly 
used,  in  measured  and  dispassionate  manner,  as  a  device  of 
social  control — a  stimulus  to  prevent  the  recurrence  of  unethical 
attitudes  and  conduct.  Praise  and  blame  as  mere  expression 
of  likes  and  dislikes — in  which  case  they  are  mere  extrusions 
of  the  person’s  own  ego — can  have  no  place  in  an  objective 
ethics. 

If  ethics  be  really  an  economy  of  means  and  ends,  it  follows 


“Xippmann’s  book  throws  very  interesting  light  on  this  matter. 


288  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

that  it  is  unethical  as  well  as  uneconomical  to  pursue  desire-re¬ 
inforcement  against  obstacles  which  may  not  be  the  real  sources 
of  obstruction.  Correct  analysis  of  these  sources  is  a  prere¬ 
quisite  to  economical  and  effective  attack,  and  correct  analysis 
cannot  be  expected  from  the  conventional  and  passionate  blame- 
anger  reaction.  “ Fixing  of  responsibility,”  in  the  sense  of 
ascertaining  causal  sequences,  is  a  different  matter.  It  is  true 
that  the  initial  blame-anger  reflex  may  in  some  cases  cause 
scientific  research  to  be  pointed  in  the  right  direction,  but  the 
actual  proof  of  responsibility  is  a  scientific  process,  from  which 
the  disturbing  factors  of  personal  attachment  and  antipathy 
must  be  excluded.  Blame,  in  the  ordinary  sense,  then,  as  found 
in  the  attitudes  of  the  rank-and-file  radical  (as  well  as  con¬ 
servative)  is  unethical  because  it  is  subjectively  grounded  and 
may  be  wrongly  directed.  It  is  also  unethical  in  that  it  per¬ 
petuates  and  intensifies  the  conflict  complexes  of  which  we  have 
inherited  and  acquired  entirely  too  many  for  the  smooth  con¬ 
duct  of  what  now  must  necessarily  be  a  highly  organized 
co-operative  society. 

Of  the  ethics  of  the  specific  methods  of  radicalism  it  is  un¬ 
necessary  to  add  any  extended  discussion.  The  general  basis 
of  judgment  in  specific  cases  and  for  the  various  types  of  method 
has  been  indicated  with  sufficient  clearness  in  the  preceding  con¬ 
sideration  of  the  ethics  of  conservative  method,  as  well  as  in 
the  discussion  of  radical  methods  in  Chapter  VIII.  Only  on  the 
use  of  force  and  intimidation  will  we  risk  tiring  the  reader  with 
further  suggestion. 

The  ethics  of  radical  violence  is  not  essentially  different 
from  the  ethics  of  force  when  used  by  the  conservative.  If 
it  is  permissible  to  use  force  for  the  protection  of  rights,  it 
would  seem  to  be  equally  permissible  to  use  it  to  acquire  them 
where  they  are  denied.  In  fact  the  radical  will  always  say  that 
he  resorts  to  force  only  in  protection  of  his  rights — a  variation 
of  the  familiar  self-defense  justification.  Be  that  as  it  may,  let 
us  again  emphasize  the  principle  that  appeal  to  force  can  be 
justified,  if  ever,  only  where  it  is  a  final  and  necessary  resort 
in  the  interest  of  such  rights  and  relations  as  are  sanctioned  by 
the  principle  of  democratic  equity  of  opportunity  and  service. 
Even  in  such  case,  it  stands  open  to  all  the  objections  urged 
above,  and  especially  to  the  objection  that  it  perpetuates  the 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  289 

conflict  psychology,  which  is  inimical  to  the  rational  settlement 
of  interest  conflicts. 

As  to  intimidation,  we  have  already  seen  that  the  radical  is 
at  a  great  disadvantage,  except  where  a  social  revolution  has 
upset  society.  All  the  main  devices  of  intimidation  are  in  the 
control  of  conservatives.  The  labor  radical  has  left  only  the 
power  of  organized  and  concerted  action  in  withholding  labor, 
in  short,  the  strike,  or  in  extreme  cases,  the  general  strike. 

The  strike  is  an  intimidative  measure  which  may  involve 
force,  and  is  at  best  costly.  Yet  as  long  as  we  allow  conservative 
capital  to  indulge  in  intimidation  we  cannot  deny  the  same 
right  to  labor.  At  the  same  time  we  should  emphatically  regret 
that  either  side  should  feel  compelled  to  resort  to  it.  Here,  of 
course,  mere  preaching  or  condemnation  is  worse  than  useless, 
as  we  should  long  since  have  learned  from  experience.  The 
situation  is  one  in  which  both  contending  parties  may  honestly 
believe  that  they  are  fighting  for  right  and  principle.  And  they 
may  fight  with  all  the  spirit  and  abandon  of  fanatical  loyalty, 
because  no  really  objective  norm  or  standard  of  rights  has  been 
appealed  to.  This  is  not  meant  to  imply  that  in  a  given  specific 
industrial  conflict  we  can  say  to  the  combatants,  with  much 
hope  that  they  will  listen  to  us,  ‘  ‘  Come,  now,  let ’s  gather  around 
a  table  and  discuss  the  issue  in  terms  of  ethical  democracy,  a 
square  deal,  or  Christian  peace  and  good  will!”  It  is  saying, 
however,  that  the  more  an  objective,  democratic  ethics  per¬ 
meates  the  population,  and  especially  the  leaders,  the  less  hair- 
trigger  will  be  the  appeal  to  force  and  intimidation,  and  the  more 
the  parties  to  interest  conflicts  will  themselves  try  to  find  a 
common  ground  of  equity. 

It  is  worthy  of  note  that  the  nearer  radical  leaders  approach 
to  the  philosophical  and  scientific  attitude,  the  more  conservative 
they  become  with  regard  to  method,  the  more  reluctant  to  use 
force  and  intimidation.  This  is  true  of  any  growth  of  ration¬ 
ality,  of  course,  whether  in  conservative  or  radical,  but  the 
world  is  much  given  to  believing  that  rationality  is  confined 
to  conservative  circles,  a  conviction  the  truth  of  which  is  open 
to  question/ 


9  Cf.  Kegan  Paul,  William  Godwin,  His  Friends  and  Contemporaries, 
1876,  Vol.  I,  pp.  104,  105. 


290  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

i 

The  practical  weakness  in  radical  method  lies  in  the  fact  that 
radicals  have  not  been  able  to  escape  the  conflict  psychology, 
and  that  their  attacks  upon  intrenched  special  interest  have 
tended  to  increase  the  consciousness  of  interest  conflicts  and, 
perhaps,  by  that  much,  to  retard  the  development  of  the  co-op¬ 
erative  good  will  and  rationality  necessary  to  democracy.  Their 
answer  to  this  is,  of  course,  that  they  have  been  compelled  to 
emphasize  interest  conflict  and  class  struggle  by  the  persistent 
hold  which  the  ideals  of  autocratic  control  and  the  master-and- 
servant  .ethics  have  upon  the  ruling  classes. 

Another  weakness  results  directly  from  the  nature  of  radical 
motivation.  So  absorbed  is  the  radical  in  removing  obstructions 
that  he  generally  has  no  time  to  fore-plan  detailed  constructive' 
measures.10  Could  the  spirit  of  constructive  social  co-operation 
gain  ground,  and  the  vested  interests  bring  themselves  to  less 
pugnacious  insistence  upon  their  “rights,”  it  is  possible  that 
constructive  capacity,  now  concealed  by  the  exigencies  of  the 
interest  conflict,  would  prove  to  be  quite  as  great  in  the  radical 
as  in  the  conservative. 

If  the  weakness  of  radicalism  lies,  for  all  its  idealism,  in  its 
deficiency  in  practical  constructiveness,  that  of  conservatism 
lies  in  its  habituation,  its  fear,  and  its  failure  to  conceive  the 
meaning  and  ethics  of  democracy.  If  radicalism  be  thought 
destructive,  conservatism  can  with  equal  truth  be  said  to  be 
obstructive.  Leaving  out  of  account  the  conservatism  of  vested 
interest,  let  us  recall  the  salient  characteristics  of  the  disinter¬ 
ested  conservative  attitude :  its  exaggerated  valuation  of 
“order”  (by  which  it  always  means  the  existing  order),  its 
worship  of  the  past  and  the  archaic,  its  uncritical  conforming 
and  clinging  to  tradition,  its  tendency  to  make  institutions  and 
“principles”  or  habits  of  thought  ends  in  themselves,  its  iner¬ 
tia,  mental  laziness,  and  quietism,  its  propensity  for  custom- 
imitation  instead  of  constructive  originality,  its  uncritical  bow- 

10  This  criticism  will  probably  diminish  in  force  as  time  goes  on.  Much 
positive  constructive  imagination  and  hard-headed  grappling  with  con¬ 
crete  problems  marks  such  a  work  as  Sidney  and  Beatrice  Webb’s  A 
Constitution  for  the  Socialist  Commonwealth  of  Great  Britain ,  1920. 
The  same  is  true  in  less  degree  of  some  of  the  literature  of  the  guild 
socialism  movement.  And  it  should  not  be  forgotten  that  many  reforms 
which  were  first  advocated  in  the  platforms  of  radical  parties  have  been 
taken  up  and  adopted  by  one  or  the  other  of  the  old  parties. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


291 


ing  to  authority,  its  high  regard  for  uncritical  and  subservient 
loyalty,  and  its  domination  by  fear  rather  than  courage.  It  is 
easy  to  see,  from  these  characteristics,  that  actual  conservatism 
will  tend  to  preserve  everything,  the  good  and  the  bad,  the 
socially  useful  and  the  socially  detrimental. 

The  functioning  of  the  actual  conservative  is  not  unjustly, 
though  somewhat  caustically,  described  in  John  Morley’s  sketch 
of  him  “with  his  inexhaustible  patience  of  abuses  that  only 
torment  others ;  his  apologetic  word  for  beliefs  that  may  not  be 
so  precisely  true  as  one  might  wish,  and  institutions  that  are 
not  altogether  so  useful  as  one  might  think  possible;  his  cor¬ 
diality  toward  progress  and  improvement  in  a  general  way,  and 
his  coldness  or  antipathy  to  each  progressive  proposal  in  par¬ 
ticular;  his  pigmy  hope  that  life  will  one  day  become  some¬ 
what  better,  punily  shivering  by  the  side  of  his  gigantic  con¬ 
viction  that  it  might  well  be  infinitely  worse.”11 

It  is  this  lack  of  courage  and  the  concomitant  domination  by 
habit  that  make  actual  conservatism  so  heavy  a  drag  on  the 
forces  of  progress.  The  result  is  that  in  the  aggregate  many 
times  more  effort  has  to  be  expended  to  accomplish  a  given  step 
in  progress  than  would  be  necessary  had  the  mass  of  men  and 
women  less  stolid  indifferentisms,  livelier  constructive  imagina¬ 
tion,  and  more  of  the  audacity  which  has  always  characterized 
progressive  leaders.12 

If  the  radical  is  less  dominated  by  fear  than  the  conserva¬ 
tive,  that  is  perhaps  due  to  the  fact  that  the  very  circumstances 
which  have  made  him  a  radical  compel  him  to  have  more  cour¬ 
age.  It  is  due  also  in  part  to  the  fact  that  radicalism  has  a 
nearer  relation  to  scientific  thought  and  is  more  given  to  ra¬ 
tional  reflection  upon  social  relations  and  processes.  Radical¬ 
ism  on  its  intellectual  side  is  a  logical  historico-evolutionary  re¬ 
sult  of  the  rationalistic  development  of  modern  scientific  thought, 
and  partakes  to  some  extent  of  the  scientific  capacity  to  face 
facts  courageously. 

Thus  radicalism  of  the  better  type  attempts  to  substitute 
rational,  even  scientific,  analysis  for  instinctive  fear.  But  rea- 

11  Voltaire ,  1st  edition,  1S72,  p.  12,  quoted  by  J.  H.  Robinson,  The  Neiv 
History,  1912,  p.  275. 

12  Even  inexperience  is  sometimes  a  condition  favorable  to  constructive 
progress.  See  T.  H.  Dickinson,  The  Insurgent  Theatre,  1917,  p.  128. 


292  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

son  functions  effectively  and  justly  only  in  proportion  to  the 
scope  and  accuracy  of  the  knowledge  with  which  it  works.  It 
is  here  that  radicalism,  like  habitual  conservatism,  frequently 
fails,  because  the  pressure  of  balked  interests  and  ambitions 
and  the  prevalence  of  the  inherited  conflict  psychology  push 
it  into  blame-anger  reactions  and  stimulate  those  personalistic 
recriminations  and  suspicions  which  may  be  regarded  as  by¬ 
products  of  fear. 

It  does  not  follow  that  fear  should  be  totally  eliminated.  A 
supplanting  of  quasi-instinctive  personalistic  reactions  by  in¬ 
telligent  sympathy  and  informed  rationalism  involves  the  con¬ 
scious  recognition  of  the  legitimate  function  of  fear  as  a  kind 
of  moral  governor  or  flywheel,  which  will  both  restrain  the 
over-impetuosity  of  impulsive  action,  and  on  the  other  hand  put 
fear  under  close  limitations,  by  subjecting  it  to  the  control  of 
knowledge  and  reason.  Fear,  alertness,  knowledge  of  the  coun¬ 
try,  and  a  quick  and  sure  rational  faculty,  are  the  qualities  of 
a  good  scout.  A  “ fearless ”  scout  would  not  last  long;  a  man 
whose  fear  is  not  rationalized  never  becomes  a  scout.  The  same 
qualities  are  necessary  in  all  able  and  progressive  social  leader¬ 
ship. 

In  driving  out  fear,  in  rationalism,  the  intellectual  radical 
often  goes  too  far.  He  fails  or  refuses  to  allow  for  the  irra¬ 
tional  element  in  our  as  yet  imperfectly  disciplined  human 
nature.  He  discounts  too  much  the  fact  that  men  have  always 
thus  far  been  more  influenced  by  passion  and  narrow  selfish¬ 
ness  than  by  a  courageous  fact-facing  reason.13  Not  until  the 
scientific  spirit,  and  a  frankness  and  disinterestedness  in  analyz¬ 
ing  personal  and  class  interests — one’s  own  included — are  far 
more  prevalent  in  thought  about  human  affairs,  will  man  have 
begun  to  approach  the  rationalistic  character  which  the  intel¬ 
lectual  radical  demands  of  the  present  and  scorns  the  past  for 
not  evincing. 

One-sided  as  it  is,  however,  the  radical’s  view  of  the  past 
may  contain  a  valuable  antidote  to  too  much  pride  and  egotism 


13  Compare  what  Leslie  Stephen  says  of  Bentham :  “Like  many  me¬ 
chanical  inventors,  he  took  for  granted  that  a  process  which  was  shown 
to  be  useful  would  therefore  be  at  once  adopted,  and  failed  to  anticipate 
the  determined  opposition  of  the  great  mass  of  ‘vested  interests’  already 
in  possession.” — The  English  Utilitat'ians,  1900,  Vol.  I,  p.  177. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


293 


about  the  present.  We  can  fairly  regard  vast  aspects  of  history 
in  much  the  same  light  in  which  we  can  now  understand  the 
peoples  of  the  future  will  regard  the  present ;  that  is,  as  devoid 
of  any  very  valuable  lesson  for  us,  because  its  people  were 
crude  barbarians,  and  its  ideals  as  low  as  its  knowledge,  under¬ 
standing,  and  rationality  were  infantile. 

With  a  few  exceptions,  the  past  has  never  been  able  to  rise 
above  the  personalistic  praise-and-blame  view  of  life,  and  the 
conflict  method  of  providing  for  group-interests.  But  as  long 
as  the  radical  himself  does  not  rise  to  a  rational  plane  which  is 
above  personal  blame-reactions  and  emphasis  on  the  necessity 
of  force  and  conflict,  he  is  not  in  position  to  put  forth  in  good 
grace  over-much  criticism  of  the  past  for  its  lack  of  impersonal¬ 
ity  and  objectivity. 

Progress  may  be  had  through  conflict  and  cataclysmic  revo¬ 
lution,  but  at  terrific  costs.  The  radical,  if  he  realizes  these 
costs,  and  yet  advocates  the  conflict  method,  either  counts  these 
losses  as  less  than  those  continuously  but  not  so  conspicuously 
inflicted  upon  the  people  by  the  non-democracy  and  the  self- 
help  individualism  of  the  present,  or  he  thinks  that  the  con¬ 
servative  elements  are  so  unreasonable  and  selfishly  obstructive 
that  they  can  be  moved  only  by  compulsion,  not  by  reason. 
The  practical  leader  of  radical  causes  is  doubtless,  also,  in  a 
position  where  he  has  to  recognize  the  lack  of  objective  intellec¬ 
tuality  among  his  rank  and  file.  He  is  thus  forced  to  utilize 
their  emotional  attitudes  and  reactions,  even  though  to  do  so 
means  further  obstruction  to  the  development  and  spread  of 
objective  rationalism.  The  conservative  thinks  the  radical 
cither  a  hare-brained  dreamer  or  a  materialist  dominated  quite 
as  much  by  selfish  acquisitiveness  as  is  the  most  intrenched 
vested  interest,  and  without  the  saving  sense  of  caution,  order, 
and  continuity  necessary  to  assurable  progress. 

Insofar  as  either  conservative  or  radical  fails  to  rise  above 
these  recriminative  personalities;  or  falls  short  of  the  objective 
scientific  attitude  toward  facts  and  investigational  methods; 
or  refuses  to  give  up  class  ethics  for  the  ethics  of  democracy, 
we  must,  according  to  the  point  of  view  we  have  developed,  hold 
that  he  has  not  attained  to  the  ethical  attitude  necessary  as  a 
prerequisite  to  economical  social  progress. 


CHAPTER  XII 


THE  PRESENT  SITUATION  AND  THE  WAY  OUT 

1.  The  Present  Situation 

IF  the  preceding  chapters  have  in  any  measure  accomplished 
their  purpose,  they  will  have  suggested,  again  and  again,  and 
from  a  variety  of  angles,  the  great  role  played  by  sentiments 
and  attitudes  in  the  ordering  or  disordering  of  social  relations. 
They  will  also  have  placed  squarely  before  the  reader  the  highly 
pertinent  question  as  to  what  types  of  sentiments  and  atti¬ 
tudes — with  regard  to  change  versus  stagnation;  individualism 
(whether  of  ends  or  of  means)  versus  socialism1  (again  whether 
of  ends  or  of  means)  ;  class  versus  democracy;  and  popular¬ 
mindedness  versus  scientific  objectivity — are  likely  to  prove 
most  conducive,  or  least  obstructive,  to  the  development  of  a 
society  rationally  organized,  peaceful,  and  co-operatively  effi¬ 
cient  in  providing  opportunity  for  the  happiness  and  self- 
expression  of  its  individual  members. 

That  we  have  a  very  reasonable  approach,  judged  by  any  but 
the  most  inexacting  standards,  to  such  a  society  to-day,  few  per¬ 
sons  not  characterized  by  the  apologetic  sentiments  of  conserva¬ 
tism  will  affirm.  Scarcely  any  one  will  hold  that  the  world 
has  made  progress  toward  such  an  ideal  since  July,  1914.  If 
in  normal  times  sentiments  and  attitudes  play  the  fundamental 
role  attributed  to  them  in  the  preceding  pages,  no  one  can  doubt 
that  the  abnormal  stimulation  and  unsettling  of  sentiments  by 
the  war  and  the  sequent  years  of  comparative  anarchy  have 
had,  and  will  have,  a  profound  significance  for  the  destinies  of 
mankind  during  an  indefinite  period  in  the  future. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  nine  tragic  years  just  passed 
have  brought  events,  situations,  and  problems  mightily  provo¬ 
cative  of  thought — though  hardly  to  a  degree  requisite  to  the 
needs  of  the  time — and  that  it  has  been  a  period  of  most  pro¬ 
found  agitatioii  and  shock  to  habits,  sentiments,  attitudes,  and 

1  Again  see  the  caution,  p.  264. 


294 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


295 


points  of  view.  It  would  be  an  error,  however,  to  overestimate 
the  extent  of  this  shake-np,  or  to  suppose  that  it  has  been  in 
the  same  direction  or  of  the  same  intensity  in  all  classes.  There 
seems  to  be,  in  fact,  considerable  indication  that  large  sections 
of  the  population  in  this  country  are  virtually  unaware  that 
there  has  been  a  war.  By  this  we  mean  to  say  that  they  have 
settled  back  into  the  habitual  pre-war  sentiments  and  pursuits, 
perforce  devoting  all  their  attention  and  energies  to  the  day- 
by-day  business  of  getting  a  living  or  of  keeping  up  with  the 
Joneses,  and  that  they  seem  hardly  more  conscious  of  the  world 
movements  shaping  their  larger  destinies,  or  at  least  those  of 
their  children,  than  they  were,  in  June,  1914,  aware  of  the  im¬ 
pending  world  cataclysm.  This  is  true  more  especially  of  the 
conventionalized  masses  of  the  rural  and  small  town  popula¬ 
tions,  including  the  well-to-do  business  men  of  the  nation’s 
10,000  Gopher  Prairies.  It  is  scarcely  less  true  of  large  sections 
of  labor  (despite  all  the  unrest  and  alertness  in  labor  circles), 
and  of  the  common  varieties  of  business  men  and  respectable 
middle-class  families  in  the  urban  centers.  Our  luncheon  clubs, 
woman’s  clubs,  State  legislatures,  and  Congress  are  continually 
revealing  how  great  is  the  shock-resisting  capacity  of  set  habits 
and  traditionalized  sentiments.  Nor  are  the  colleges  and  uni¬ 
versities  devoid  of  a  discouraging  capacity  to  proceed  on  the 
even  tenor  of  their  traditional  ways.  One  could  visit  many 
classes  in  every  department,  from  Greek  to  law,  economics,  and 
ethics,  without  catching  more  than  a  casual  hint  or  two  that 
the  times  are  especially  out  of  joint,  though  one  might  stumble 
into  a  chemistry  lecture  on  the  remarkable  progress  made  since 
the  war  in  the  invention  of  more  effectively  lethal  poison  gases. 

All  this,  however,  is  to  be  expected.  The  day’s  work  has  to  be 
done ;  under  present  conditions  we  cannot  look  for  the  special¬ 
ist,  whether  at  the  turret  lathe  or  in  the  philosophical  closet,  to 
possess  the  mass  of  information,  the  complexity  of  attention  and 
interest,  and  the  multiple  vision  ideally  requisite  in  a  world,  or 
a  country,  supposedly  governed  “democratically”  by  the  people. 
In  spite,  however,  of  specialization,  absorption  in  the  affairs  of 
the  immediate  moment,  and  the  persistency  of  habit  and  socially 
inherited  sentiments,  it  is  probable  that  these  nine  years  have 
made  more  people  think,  however  ineffectively,  than  have  ever 
thought  before.  In  few  junctures  of  history  have  thinking 


296  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

people  been  more  distressed  or  more  pessimistic  over  the  social 
outlook — more  especially  the  international  political  and  eco¬ 
nomic  outlook — than  they  are  to-day. 

The  prevailing  state  of  mind  the  world  over,  among  those 
who  think  on  social  matters  and  those  who  have  been  more 
nearly  touched  by  the  destruction  and  anarchy  of  the  war  than 
has  the  average  American,  is  one  of  disillusion.  The  new  pessi¬ 
mistic  attitude  flows  from  an  appreciation,  not  only  of  the 
material  loss  and  disorganization  resultant  upon  the  war,  but 
of  the  psychological  consequences  of  five  years  of  systematically 
stimulated  and  hypertrophied  combativeness.  Not  since  the 
Thirty  Years’  War;  probably  not  since  the  fourteenth  century 
when  the  Black  Death  scourged  Europe;  possibly  not  since  the 
barbarian  hordes  swept  out  of  the  German  forests  to  overrun 
the  Roman  world,  has  civilization  been  reduced  to  a  more  deplor¬ 
able  state  of  disorganization,  distrust,  intolerance,  and  of  that 
futile  obstructionism  which  comes  from  the  hateful  and  pas¬ 
sionate  antagonisms  of  narrow  class  or  nationalistic  interests 
blindly  pursued. 

The  briefest  possible  catalogue  of  post-war  conditions  will 
suffice  to  suggest  how  profound  is  this  disorganization. 

Beginning  with  the  internal  affairs  of  our  own  country,  it  is 
clear  to  us  now  that  Armistice  Day,  1918,  dawned  upon  a  world 
as  unprepared  for  peace  as  we  had  ever  been  unready  for  war, 
even  according  to  the  statements  of  the  militarists.  The  Day’s 
delirium  of  popular  joy  was  but  the  brief  prelude  to  depression 
and  paralysis.  An  eighteen  months’  orgy  of  extravagance 
(probably  an  emotional  release  from  war  strain),  speculation, 
and  profiteering  ushered  in  the  inevitable  business  depres¬ 
sion,  one  of  the  most  acute  and  persistent  in  history.  A  spec¬ 
tacular  decline  of  prices  and  paralysis  of  credit  marked  the 
breakdown  of  production  and  the  economic  ruin  of  large  sec¬ 
tions  of  the  population,  especially  the  farmers ;  unsaleable  goods 
meant  locked  factory  gates,  and  chronic  unemployment  of  un¬ 
precedented  extent.  All  this,  together  with  the  foolhardy 
determination  of  employers  to  “show  labor  its  place”  and  a 
dogged  desire  on  the  part  of  labor  to  yield  no  ground  once 
gained,  made  inevitable  a  period  of  very  acute  labor  disputes. 
The  intensity  of  these  disputes  was,  and  is,  at  once  an  index  of 
the  extent  of  our  economic  disorganization,  and  a  portent  of 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


297 


danger  to  social  peace.  Economic  disorganization  and  industrial 
strife  led  to  an  arbitrary  and  dangerous  extension  of  admin¬ 
istrative  and  judicial  powers,  to  which  the  temporary  destruc¬ 
tion  of  civil  liberty  in  England  during  and  after  the  French 
Revolution  furnishes  a  close  historical  parallel.  This  resulted 
in  an  unfortunate  heightening  of  psychological  tension  and  con¬ 
sciousness  of  class  conflict. 

What  the  economic  consequences  of  the  Peace  have  been 
abroad  is  well-known.  Europe’s  economic  life  is  paralyzed, 
partly  due  to  war  destruction,  but  in  greater  degree  to  the 
total  derangement  of  international  trade,  and  more  specifically 
to  the  absence  of  an  intelligent  and  courageous  international 
economic  statesmanship  in  the  United  States.  The  Peace  Treaty 
violently  tore  asunder  the  world’s  economic  fabric,  and  rejected 
the  essential  economic  co-operation,  for  an  illusory  political  self- 
determination.  A  debasement  of  national  currencies  which 
would  have  been  criminal  had  it  not  probably  been  unavoidable 
— the  United  States  alone  having  secured,  to  its  own  loss,  half 
the  world’s  total  gold  supply,  and  Europe  having  piled  up 
war  expenses  beyond  any  conceivable  ability  to  pay — evidenced 
the  financial  bankruptcy  of  Europe.  Nationalistic  selfishness, 
suicidal  in  its  blindness,  insisted  upon  the  payment  of  impossible 
indemnities.  In  America  popular  ignorance  of  the  most  elemen¬ 
tary  principles  of  international  trade  and  credit  insisted  on  the 
impossible  payment  of  the  war  loans  which  had  been  made  to  the 
Allies.  Also  in  obedience  to  who  shall  say  what  promptings 
from  vested  interests  or  what  domination  by  old  economic  illu¬ 
sions,  a  tariff  wall  was  erected,  designed  to  be  impenetrable,  at 
the  time  when  the  utmost  freedom  and  encouragement  of  inter¬ 
national  trade  was  the  essential  basis  and  starting  point  of 
world  reconstruction. 

Politically,  the  world  is  at  sea.  Liberalism  is  without  a  defi¬ 
nite  program,  radicalism  has  suffered  some  disillusionment  and 
shows  signs  of  fatigue,  and  reactionism,  where  not  already  in 
control,  as  in  America,  France,  and  Italy,  is  seeking  favorable 
opportunity  for  violent  resumption  of  power.  And  still  there 
is  no  guarantee  that  the  recklessness  of  reactionism  2  and  the 

2  For  example,  militaristic  nationalism  in  France,  the  royalists  in  Ger¬ 
many,  the  Fascisti  in  Italy,  and  the  various  “oil  diplomacies”  in  the 
Near  East. 


298  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

constructive  incapacity 3  of  conservatism  may  not  yet  throw  the 
direction  of  social  reconstruction  into  the  hands  of  well-meaning 
but  inexperienced  and  undisciplined  revolutionary  radicals. 

Political  democracy,  toward  which,  prior  to  1914,  the  whole 
world  was  moving,  now  seems  to  many  dangerous,  to  others 
futile,  and  to  still  others  a  hollow  sham  which  must  be  replaced 
by  a  genuinely  representative  democracy  of  sovietism  or  guild 
socialism.  The  fountain-heads  of  public  opinion  and  public 
sentiment  are  roiled,  and  poisoned  by  passionate  propagandas 
and  recriminations. 

Our  morale  is  badly  shaken.  We  fought  for  democracy  and 
got  an  amazing  outburst  of  the  old  cynical,  nationalistic,  secret 
diplomacy,  and  a  vigorous  growth  of  administrative  encroach¬ 
ment  on  constitutional  rights.  Setting  up  the  ideal  of  self- 
determination,  we  have  seen  it  turned  into  a  forcing-bed  of 
cynical  insistence  that  to  the  victors  belong  the  spoils.  We 
fought  to  defend  national  honor  (whatever  that  may  be  defined 
to  be)  and  find  that  honor  between  nations  is  at  a  distinctly  low 
ebb.  Fondly  persuading  ourselves  that  we  were  fighting  to  end 
war,  we  are  now  not  unreasonably  fearful  that  we  have  only  set 
the  stage  for  an  endless  succession  of  wars.  In  the  face  of  these 
conditions  we  are  characterized  by  a  deadly  deficiency  in  tol¬ 
erance  and  objectivity,  a  deplorable  unwillingness  or  incapacity 
to  face  the  facts,  and  a  continued  belief  that  issues  must  be  set¬ 
tled  by  force  rather  than  by  scientific  adjudication  and  adjust¬ 
ment.  This  does  not  mean  that  there  is  not,  in  the  population 
at  large,  a  deep  desire  for  peace  and  co-operative  good  will. 
But  the  meagre  results  of  the  Disarmament  Conference,  as 
well  as  the  one  at  Genoa  and  the  preceding  European  confer¬ 
ences,  and  later,  Lausanne,  indicate  either  that  such  desire 
is  far  from  universal  or  that  the  peoples  of  the  various  countries 
have  insufficient  organization  to  make  their  representatives 
carry  out  their  will. 

We  have  been  brought  to  this  pass  because  we  sowed  the  wind ; 
of  narrow  individualism,  commercialism,  nationalism,  militar¬ 
ism,  and  capitalism — all,  ironically  enough,  most  highly  devel¬ 
oped  in  the  “ Christian’ ’  countries;  and  are  now  reaping  the 
whirlwind. 


3  Ample  illustrations  are  close  at  hand  in  the  United  States. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


299 


These  were  the  characteristics,  both  institutional  and  ideolog¬ 
ical,  of  the  society  which  grew  to  such  astounding  size  and  com¬ 
plexity,  and  with  such  unmanageable  rapidity,  between  the  fall 
of  Napoleon  and  the  fall  of  the  Kaiser.  This  growth,  which,  after 
Graham  Wallas,  we  may  call  the  Great  Society,  was  the  in¬ 
evitable  resultant  of  the  Industrial  Revolution,  business  enter¬ 
prise,  modern  applied  science,  machine  industry,  and  the  mod¬ 
ern  philosophy  of  power.  It  is  no  mere  rhetorical  indulgence 
to  say  that  this  mechanico-commercial  and  nationalistic  society 
which  we,  Frankenstein-like,  created  during  the  nineteenth  cen¬ 
tury,  was  a  monstrous  Thing,  bound  sooner  or  later  to  turn  upon 
its  maker  and  threaten  his  destruction. 

The  growth  of  this  unmanageable  social  mechanism  was  the 
result  neither  of  malevolent  forethought  nor  of  maleficent  stu¬ 
pidity.  It  was  the  natural  and  inevitable  result  of  powerful 
human  instincts  stimulated  to  unprecedented  activity  by  the 
most  remarkable  outburst  of  intellectual  development  in  history. 
The  achievements  of  modern  physical  science  opened  the  world 
to  exploitation.  They  gave  man  a  degree  of  utilitarian  control 
over  the  forces  of  nature  that  he  had  never  before  dreamed  of, 
and  this  control  sent  him  over  the  whole  face  of  the  earth,  bent 
on  exploit  and  conquest.  Thus  instincts  of  acquisition  and 
combat  played  in  a  world-wide  arena  for  enormous  stakes,  and 
natural  science  supplied  them  with  weapons. 

These  instincts  were  developed  during  the  stages  of  biological 
evolution  when  the  outfit  of  instincts  most  necessary  to  man 
was  such  as  would  assure  survival  in  the  struggle  for  existence. 
They  were  the  result,  and  the  expression,  of  a  different  type 
of  life-process  than  man  is  called  upon  to-day  to  evolve,  if 
civilization  is  to  be  much  more  than  a  transparent  veneer  for 
brutality.  Instincts  so  developed,  as  a  product  of  our  biological 
past,  especially  the  instincts  of  acquisition  and  combat,  and  the 
attitudes  which  we  have  absorbed  from  our  historical  past,  are 
palpably  unsuited  to  the  moral,  and  even  the  biological,  needs 
of  men  living  in  a  society  as  complex  as  that  we  are  now  called 
upon  to  reconstruct  upon  a  workable  basis. 

It  should  be  remembered  that  compared  to  the  long  period 
of  manb  previous  evolution,  the  duration,  of  our  present  form 
of  social  organization — the  nationalistic,  capitalistic,  machine- 
industry  era — has  been  but  a  fleeting  moment.  Considering 


300  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

the  discrepancy  between  our  biologically  created  instincts  and 
our  socially  inherited  attitudes  on  the  one  hand  and  our  pres¬ 
ent  needs  on  the  other,  we  may  venture  to  think  that  the  main 
cause  of  our  failure  to  make  the  Great  Society  safe  for  human 
life  and  productive  for  human  health  and  happiness — as  safe 
and  as  productive,  that  is,  as  we  can  see  it  could  be  made — is 
not  so  much  a  deficiency  in  inherited  intellectual  capacity  as 
it  is  a  lack  of  will  and  the  lack  of  an  emotional  inheritance 
suited  to  present  needs. 

We  have  not  developed  the  motives  and  attitudes  requisite 
to  a  worthy  functioning  of  the  great  social  mechanism  to  which, 
whether  we  like  it  or  not,  we  are  committed.  In  all  our  preced¬ 
ing  biological  and  cultural  evolution,  man’s  instinctive  nature 
has  been  developed  and  “set”  under  conditions  infinitely  more 
simple,  on  the  whole  more  stable,  and  to  the  average  mind  more 
understandable,  than  those  now  existent.  The  exigencies  of 
life,  the  struggle  for  survival,  the  hardened  system  of  class 
statuses,  required  that  the  instincts  of  fear,  pugnacity,  self-as¬ 
sertion,  self-abasement,  and  acquisitiveness  should  be  developed 
to  great  strength  and  wide  diffusion.4  The  social  instincts  of 
gregariousness  and  sympathy,  while  biological  products  with 
biological  functions,  were  subordinated  to  combat  impulses,  as 
were  the  incipient  instinct  of  workmanship,  as  well  as  other 
instincts  of  constructive  self-expression. 

To  a  significant  extent,  therefore,  our  inherited  psychology 
is  a  conflict  psychology  instead  of  what  we  now  need — a  psy¬ 
chology  of  co-operative  workmanship.  The  combative  and 
acquisitive  instincts,  when  the  Great  Society  finally  came  into 
being,  not  only  stood  in  the  way  of  a  lastingly  effective  organiza¬ 
tion  and  control  for  social  safety  and  social  welfare,  but  actu¬ 
ally  directed  control  to  channels  and  methods  which  could 
only  mean  disorganization  and  relative  failure  in  the  end. 

The  unmanageableness  of  the  Great  Society  results,  therefore, 
primarily  from  the  fact  that  our  intellectual  achievement  in  the 
field  of  physical  science  and  technology  has  far  outrun  our  moral 
development  and  our  social-engineering  capacity.  Needing 
above  all,  control  and  directive  capacity  for  social  ends  (that 

4  It  must  be  remembered  that  in  this  book  we  make  no  attempt  to 
use  the  term  instinct  in  any  technically  exact  sense. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


301 


is,  for  the  life  of  individuals  through  a  co-operative  social  organ¬ 
ization)  ;  calling  for  the  organization  of  thought  and  will  for 
collective  purposes;  demanding  widely  concerted  and  intelli¬ 
gently  planned  action  for  its  right  handling;  the  situation  has 
been  met  instead  by  populations  ignorant  of  the  forces  shaping 
their  destinies,  and  by  leaders,  not  infrequently  only  less  igno¬ 
rant,  dominated  by  instincts  more  suitable  to  a  brute  com¬ 
petition  for  survival  and  individual  advantage  than  to  the  needs 
of  a  highly  complex  society  of  interdependent  parts  and 
functions. 

Nor  is  it  alone  our  inherited  instinctive  equipment  which  is, 
in  part,  inimical  to  the  success  of  what  must  he,  from  its  very 
size  and  functional  specializations,  a  co-operative  society.  We 
are  the  victims,  as  has  already  been  suggested,  of  a  social  inherit¬ 
ance  from  the  individualistic  political  and  economic  philosophy 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  a  philosophy  which  is  still  used, 
great  as  have  been  the  modifications,  with  popular,  apologetic 
effect  by  those  who  oppose  the  development  of  a  new  and  a 
more  social-minded  liberalism.  This  philosophy,  which  was 
both  cause  and  result  of  the  eighteenth  century  revolt  against 
political  absolutism  and  economic  mercantilism,  was  centrally 
insistent  upon  the  rights  of  the  individual,  especially  his  rights 
of  acquisition,  rather  than  upon  his  social  functions  and  duties. 
Its  political  expression  was  the  night-watchman  theory  of  the 
state;  its  economic,  the  doctrine  of  free  competition  and  the 
devil  take  the  hindmost.  Both  gave  color  to  the  belief  that 
what  is  everybody’s  business  is  nobody’s  business.  The  Great 
Society  was  expected  to  run  itself.5 

The  Great  Society  thus  carries  within  itself,  as  matters  now 
stand,  psychological  and  cultural  incompatabilities  bound  to 
strangle  its  functional  powers  and  to  plunge  it,  in  the  future 
as  in  the  past,  into  chronic  cycles  of  universal  contention  and 
disorganization,  unless  they  are  removed  or  at  least  very  greatly 
mitigated. 

Its  theory  of  functional  organization  has  been  motivated  by 

a  Even  the  Christian  religion  was  able  to  make  blit  little  headway 
against  this  combat-and-acquisition  theory  of  life.  The  church  itself, 
in  fact,  in  spite  of  its  nominal  social  idealism,  became  something  of  an 
addict  to  it.  See  C.  A.  Ellwood,  The  Reconstruction  of  Religion ,  a 
Sociological  View ,  1922,  Ch.  4. 


302  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

an  individualism  of  means  rather  than  of  ends.  It  should,  how¬ 
ever,  by  this  time  in  our  cultural  experimentation  be  clear  that 
through  co-operation,  and  co-operation  alone,  can  the  Great 
Society  be  made  to  function  productively  and  creatively  to  the 
full  and  healthful  life  of  its  individual  members.  Every  con¬ 
flict  of  industrial  interests,  every  international  war,  every  class 
conflict,  however  inevitable  it  may  be  under  present  conditions, 
is  a  violation  of  the  principle  of  co-operation  and  of  co-operative 
understanding  and  good  will. 

Inimical  also  to  the  proper  functioning  of  the  Great  Society 
is  the  attempt  to  combine  a  system  of  industrial  autocracy  with 
a  system  of  political  democracy.  A  real  political  democracy 
and  any  sort  of  feudalism  are  incompatible.  Autocratic  refusal 
to  extend  to  the  workers  any  voice  whatever  in  industrial  man¬ 
agement,  bitter  “open  shop”  opposition  to  the  workers’  ideal 
of  collective  bargaining,  and  the  seeming  failure  of  political 
democracy  to  guard  industrial  management  and  productive 
resources  from  the  exploitative  direction  of  men  and  classes 
believed  by  many  penetrating  and  disinterested  observers  to  be 
dominated  quite  as  much  by  acquisitive  as  by  constructive 
motives,  perpetuate  the  feeling  of  class  conflict  and  intensify 
the  conviction  that  political  democracy  is  an  illusion.  Curi¬ 
ously,  this  conviction  flourishes  at  the  extremes — with  a  consid¬ 
erable  percentage  of  the  academic  intellectuals  on  one  side  and 
with  the  extreme  left  labor  radicals  on  the  other.  To  what  ex¬ 
tent  it  actually  is  an  illusion  will  in  the  long  run  depend  upon 
whether  political  democracy  has  the  ability  to  devise  an  organi¬ 
zation  of  economic  processes  devoted  primarily  to  the  interest 
of  production  rather  than  individual  or  corporate  acquisitive¬ 
ness. 

Another  survival  incompatible  with  the  efficient  operation  of 
the  Great  Society  is  the  notion  of  class  ascendancy  and  mass 
subservience.  This  notion  is  concretely  embodied  in  our  socially 
inherited  master-and-servant  ethics,  itself  an  expression  of  the 
older,  non-democratic  attitude,  according  to  which  the  privileged 
few  are  the  end  and  the  masses  of  the  people  frankly  means. 
Such  an  attitude  will  always  be  in  conflict  with  the  democratic 
ideal  and  with  the  aspirations  of  the  people.  Where  it  is  con¬ 
cealed  by  a  cloak  of  chicanery  which  uses  democratic  slogans 
and  shibboleths  to  cover  differential  privilege  and  exploitation, 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


303 


it  is  probable  that  as  time  goes  on  the  people  will  more  preva¬ 
lently  and  more  intelligently  see  through  the  ruse. 

So  long  as  the  gulf  between  leisure  and  toil  is  sufficiently  wide, 
and  the  workers  are  kept  in  a  proper  state  of  ignorance,  the 
master-and-servant  ethics,  however  incompatible  with  democ¬ 
racy,  need  not  be  a  very  great  obstacle  to  social  peace  and  effici¬ 
ency — as  these  are  measured  by  the  leisure  classes;  but  as  soon 
as  the  masses  have  obtained  some  degree  of  education,  and  have 
begun  the  emulative  process  of  raising  their  standard  of  living, 
the  democratic  ferment — some  may  prefer  to  call  it  a  virus — 
begins  to  work,  and  peace  and  efficiency  are  at  a  discount.  For 
no  people  which  really  senses  the  meaning  of  the  democratic 
ideal  is  going  to  abide  indefinitely  by  the  inherited  master-and- 
servant  ethics.  Such  an  ethics  and  democracy  are  utterly  incom¬ 
patible.  Until  one  or  the  other  gives  way  we  cannot  hope  that 
the  Great  Society  will  work  smoothly. 

Vigorous  as  is  the  fight  now  waged  for  the  retention  of  the 
master-and-servant  ethics,  the  trend  of  the  times  indicates  that 
conservatism  and  reactionism  are  in  this  matter  fighting  a  los¬ 
ing  battle.  There  is  no  indication  that  the  masses  will  recede  in 
their  struggle  against  privilege,  however  deficient  in  organiza¬ 
tion  and  knowledge  of  the  real  lay  of  the  land  they  may  be. 
A  general  attitude  of  class  subservience  is  not  to  be  expected 
under  a  system  of  universal  education.  The  more  education, 
even  the  more  literacy,  we  have,  the  greater  will  be  the  spirit 
of  resentment  at  any  form  of  autocracy  or  of  arbitrary  and 
artificial  restriction  of  opportunity. 

Finally,  it  needs  no  argument  to  show  that  our  traditional 
policy  of  nationalistic  selfishness  and  aggrandizement  is  now 
suicidal.  Modern  engineering  technique  has  brought  the  world 
to  such  specialization  of  industry  and  such  universal  intercom¬ 
munication  and  interdependence  that  merely  exploitative  atti¬ 
tudes  and  processes  must  either  react,  like  a  boomerang,  upon 
those  who  temporarily  profit  by  them,  or  destroy  civilization  in 
its  present  form  once  for  all. 

Out  of  these  deep-seated  incompatibilities,  traceable  to  our 
inheritance  of  instincts,  attitudes,  and  philosophies  tragically 
unsuited  to  our  present  requirements,  come  the  transcendent 
task  and  duty  of  a  profound  psychological,  and  thence  social, 
readjustment. 


304  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

2.  Is  There  a  Way  Out ? 

Our  task  is  to  find  a  practical  method  of  directing  social 
evolution  to  some  adequately  rational  aim  or  purpose.  Nega¬ 
tively  speaking,  it  is  to  put  human  life  on  a  plane  from  which 
it  will  not  drop  back  into  the  non-productive  and  destructive 
conflicts  of  special  interests.  Positively,  it  is  to  make  life  worth 
living  to  the  individual  from  some  point  of  view  and  motive 
other  than  that  afforded  by  the  blind  instinct  of  existence  and 
biological  survival.  It  is  to  replace  “ drift”  by  ‘ ‘mastery” — 
captaincy  of  our  own  collective  advance.  It  is  to  substitute 
what  Lester  F.  Ward,  in  his  somewhat  ponderous  terminology, 
called  “collective  telesis”  for  “social  genesis.”6  It  is  to  make 
human  experience  and  knowledge  constructively  creative  rather 
than  imitatively  conservative  and  argumentatively  apologetic 
for  established  differential  privilege.7 

Obviously  escape  from  the  present  situation,  with  the  elements 
of  anarchy  inherent  in  it,  can  only  land  us  in  greater  anarchy 
— more  conflict  of  purposes  and  interests,  greater  dispersion  of 
thought  and  effort — unless  we  can  come  to  some  rational  and 
practical  agreement  as  to  the  direction  in  which  social  evolution 
should  consciously  be  guided.  Otherwise  it  is  hard  to  see  how 
life  will  not  continue  indefinitely  to  be  a  congeries  of  conflict¬ 
ing  and  more  or  less  irrational  loyalties  and  mutually  negating 
morales,  as  destructive  as  those  which  brought  on  the  World  War 
and  fought  it  through  to  the  kind  of  peace  on  earth,  good  Will 
to  men  we  enjoy  to-day. 

The  needful  common  purpose  is  not  to  be  thought  of  as  a 
fixed  and  static  something  that  we  are  to  strive  for,  nor  as  an 
ideal  state  to  be  accomplished  by  sudden  revolution  or  miracu¬ 
lous  conversion.  It  must  be  a  common  purpose  in  reasonable 
conformity  with  human  nature,  or  more  properly  speaking  with 
what  a  scientific  psychology  shows  that  human  nature,  under 
adequate  stimulus  of  education,  can  be  brought  to  be.  It  must 
be  something  to  which  men  in  their  reasonable  mind,  not  torn 
by  the  emotional  conflicts  of  narrowly  self-seeking  special  inter¬ 
ests,  and  not  intellectually  hypnotized  by  the  metaphysical 

6  Outlines  of  Sociology,  1899,  Clis.  10-12 ;  Pure  Sociology,  2d  edition, 
1907,  Ch.  20. 

7  Cf.  John  Dewey,  Reconstruction  in  Philosophy,  1920. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  305 

absolutes  of  apologetic  philosophies,  can  be  expected  to  grasp 
as  a  fair  and  reasonable  purpose  for  humanity  as  a  whole. 

We  have  tried  in  these  pages  to  suggest  a  purpose,  or  at  least 
an  attitude  toward  life,  which  corresponds  with  these  require¬ 
ments.  We  do  not  mean  to  imply  for  a  moment  that  we  have 
presented  a  theory  that  has  not  been  set  forth  before,  in  sub¬ 
stance  if  not  in  set  terms,  by  other  writers,  both  popular  and 
academic.  But  perhaps  a  contribution  of  something  construc¬ 
tive  will  be  found  in  our  attempt  to  base  an  objective  ethics 
on  the  facts  of  behaviorism ;  to  make  a  sharp  distinction  between 
individualism  of  ends  and  individualism  of  means ; 8  to  reveal 
concretely  the  bad  consequences  which  flow  from  the  popular 
blame-anger  reaction  in  interest  conflicts;  and  to  insist,  upon 
what  we  regard  as  scientific  ground,  upon  a  tolerant,  willing, 
and  rational  social  co-operation,  without  falling  into  the  in¬ 
effective  superficialities  of  “brotherhood,”  “service,”  “sacri¬ 
fice,”  and  other  conventionalized  ideals  commonly  and  senti¬ 
mentally  associated  with  “Christian  morals.” 

We  attempted  to  show,  in  Chapter  X,  that  the  central  moral 
or  social  function  of  science  is  to  rationalize  interest  conflicts 
— to  furnish  the  data  and  the  spirit  by  which  issues  can  be 
settled  by  appeal  to  fact  rather  than  through  praise-and-blame 
personalities,  much  less  through  force.  The  general  conception 
in  the  popular  mind  in  regard  to  ethical  norms  is  that  they  are 
either  a  matter  of  taste  or  that  they  can  find  final  sanction  and 
authority  only  by  appeal  to  absolute  metaphysical  and  religious 
postulates.  This  is  one  reason  why  religion  has  thus  far  failed 
to  overcome  the  wrong  balance  of  our  inherited  instincts  and 
proclivities  sufficiently  to  bring  the  world  a  durable  peace. 
Conflicting  religious  beliefs  have  worked  hand  in  hand  with 
nationalistic  loyalties  to  perpetuate  and  intensify  the  conflict 
spirit.  Both  the  notion  that  ethics  is  a  matter  of  taste,  without 
the  possibility  of  a  scientifically  founded  norm,  and  the  opposed 
idea  that  ethics  is  by  no  means  a  matter  of  whim  but  that  its 
norms  must  be  found  in  authoritarian  prescription,  we  are  com¬ 
pelled  to  reject,  on  scientific  as  well  as  on  practical  grounds. 

8  Right  here  lies  a  very  important  difference  between  the  individualism 
presented  in  this  book  and  that  set  forth  as  the  final  ethical  norm  by 
Warner  Fite  in  his  Individualism:  Four  Lectures  on  Jie  Significance 
of  C  onsciousncss  for  Social  Relations,  1911. 


306  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

Practically,  if  ethics  is  only  a  matter  of  taste,  there  is  no  rea¬ 
son  to  suppose  that  even  distant  agreement  as  to  ends  can  be 
reached ;  and  if  it  is  a  matter  contingent  upon  the  sanctions  of 
metaphysical  mysticism  and  religious  dogma  there  seems  no 
greater  probability  of  agreement,  since  in  these  fields  of  specu¬ 
lative  thought  we  are  beyond  the  limit  of  verifiable  fact,  and 
every  thinker  is  free  to  start  from  whatever  speculative  postu¬ 
lates  he  pleases.  So  that,  in  the  last  analysis,  metaphysical  and 
theological  ethics  are  in  near  accord  with  the  popular  notion; 
they  both  reduce  to  a  matter  of  taste.  Moreover  an  ethics 
grounded  on  transcendental  authority  is  all  too  likely  to  be 
conceived  and  interpreted  in  terms  of  protection  to  the  authori¬ 
tative  institutions  which  claim  the  exclusive  right  of  interpre¬ 
tation.  At  least  it  has  been  so  in  the  past.9 

It  may  be  an  act  of  philosophical  temerity  to  hold  that  science 
can  have  any  such  function  as  we  hold  it  must  have.  Certainly 
most  scientists  outside  the  field  of  the  social  sciences,  and  not 
a  few  timid  souls  within  that  field,  would  aver  that  it  is;  but 
that  would  be  perhaps  because  they  have  not  themselves 
attained  to  a  consistent  scientific,  that  is,  a  deterministic,  mech¬ 
anistic,  view  of  the  domain  of  experience  with  which  their 
science  has  to  do.  If  we  have  in  the  moral  field  some  hold-over 
instincts  of  little  value  in  the  Great  Society,  we  have  in  the 
intellectual  perhaps  some  undetected  wisps  of  animism  and 
magic  attached  to  our  mental  processes.  Human  life  has  thus 
far  been  lived  and  organized  very  largely  on  illusions,  and  these 
illusions  are  continually  getting  into  violent  conflicts  with  one 
another,  with  results  not  always  beneficial  to  “the  race,”  and 
rarely  to  the  defeated  individuals.  The  only  thing  that  can 
dispel  illusion  is  science.  We  can  look  nowhere  else  than  to 
science  to  dispel  the  mystical,  metaphysical,  nationalistic,  class, 
and  narrow,  hyper-egotistical  illusions  that  still  stand  in  the 
way  of  our  sensing  a  rational  direction  in  which  collectively  to 
guide  human  evolution. 

It  is  our  confidence  in  the  scientific  quality  of  the  new  psy¬ 
chology,  with  its  inductive,  experimental  study  of  the  organ¬ 
ism,  in  part  and  in  whole,  as  a  mechanical  organization  and 
process,  and  its  ideal  of  complete  divorcement  from  metaphysics, 


8  Cf.  Dewey,  Reconstruction  in  Philosophy ,  1920,  pp.  1-3. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


307 


which  leads  ns  to  the  conclusion  that  the  ethical  end  is  the  life 
of  the  individual  and  not  the  supposed  transcendent  interests 
of  any  group  or  institution.  In  other  words,  his  own  life — 
healthy,  functional,  symmetrical,  and  happy  living — is  the  only 
ultimate  purpose  to  which  any  individual  can  rationally  assent. 
That  this  does  not  mean  to  us  that  the  individual  is  to  be  viewed 
as  an  isolated  and  independent  thing,  rather  than  a  locus  of 
biological  and  social  forces,  should  be  clear  from  our  discus¬ 
sion  of  democracy  and  of  the  methods  through  which  the  life 
of  the  individual  is  subserved  (Chapter  X). 

For  if  behavioristic  psychology  points  to  the  individual  as 
the  only  end,  social  psychology,  which  should  be  but  an  exten¬ 
sion  of  behaviorism,  with  equal  certainty  points  to  social  co-op¬ 
eration  as  the  indispensable  means  to  this  end.  It  also  indi¬ 
cates,  with  greater  cogency  than  metaphysics  or  sentimentalism 
ever  can,  that  the  policy  of  direct  individualism  of  means,  the 
narrow  selfishness,  the  insistence  upon  legalistic,  crystallized, 
static,  acquisitive  “rights,”  does  not  pay. 

In  this  way  it  should  now  be  clear  that  we  arrive,  on  scien¬ 
tific  grounds,  at  very  much  the  same  conclusions  as  the  Founder 
of  Christian  ethics  attained  through  what  we  may  regard,  with¬ 
out  irreverence,  as  a  marvelous  intuitive  insight.  But  the  con¬ 
cepts  of  duty  and  service  will  belong  in  the  category  of  means, 
not  ends,  and  they  will  have  a  rational,  empirical  appeal  to  the 
self -regarding  elements  in  human  nature,  which  has;  proved  itself 
more  or  less  refractory  to  sentiment  with  regard  to  the  practice 
of  self-sacrifice  and  “altruism.” 

To  all  this  there  will  be  two  stock  objections,  from  very  dif¬ 
ferent  sources. 

The  first  of  these  emanates  from  persons  who  have  little  faith 
in  man’s  capacity  to  acquire  a  rational  attitude.  If  they  can  be 
brought,  for  the  sake  of  argument,  to  admit  that  the  individual 
is  end  and  social  co-operation  means,  they  still  object  that  there 
is  no  possibility  of  erecting  a  workable  social  ethics  upon  a 
rational  scientific  foundation,  even  of  the  “broader  selfishness.” 
Some  other  sanction,  they  hold,  has  to  be  appealed  to,  and  since 
it  cannot  be  that  one  to  which  we  think  a  scientific  psychology 
will  lead  us,  it  must  be  a  transcendental  religious  motive.  With¬ 
out  quarrelling  over  terms,  what  this1  religious  motive  is,  in 
final  analysis,  but  an  emotional  appeal  to  the  interests  of  the 


308  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

larger  self  it  is  difficult  to  see.  But  into  this  purely  logical 
phase  of  the  subject  we  need  not  go. 

Where  an  appeal  to  some  super-sanction  actually  works  better 
than  a  directly  and  frankly  rational  appeal  to  scientific  in¬ 
sight,  let  it  be  used  by  all  means.  We  cannot  afford  to  discard 
the  help  of  any  method  which  will  promote  social  peace  and 
sanity,  provided  it  is  so  accepted  that  it  does  not  tend  to  promote 
the  continued  deficiency  in  objective  rationality,  which  is  one 
of  the  main  grounds  for  its  temporary  use.  In  the  long  interim 
which  must  elapse  before  humanity  acquires  in  a  requisite 
degree  the  objective,  scientific  attitude,  we  may  welcome,  as  a 
working  compromise,  any  agency  which  will  reduce  narrow 
selfishness  and  strife,  and  decrease  the  retardation  to  a  broad 
and  liberal  living  which  they  entail.10 

But  there  is  perhaps  some  room  for  question  as  to  whether 
nineteen  centuries  of  admonishment  to  self-forgetfulness  and 
self-sacrifice,  on  the  sanction  of  transcendental  absolutes  and 
religious  imperatives,  have  been  sufficiently  successful  in  devel¬ 
oping  peace,  good  will,  and  whole-hearted  social  co-operation  to 
warrant  us  in  refusing  to  formulate  and  utilize  an  entirely 
objective  and  scientific  calculus  of  ends  and  means.  It  would 
seem  fair  to  raise  the  question  whether  socially-minded  leaders, 
in  the  church  or  out,  should  not  see  the  desirability,  if  not  the 
necessity,  of  substituting  for  “  militant  ”  Christianity,  militant 
Mohammedanism,  or  militant  what-not,  a  more  objective  and 
constructive  method. 

The  other  objection  comes  from  those  who  take  no  stock  in 
mysticism  and  emotional  appeal,  but  on  the  contrary,  pride 
themselves  on  their  hard-headedness.  From  this  point  of  view 
it  is  held  that  the  broader  selfishness  is  only  a  verbal  quibble 
for  altruism  and  “service,”  and  has  no  more  chance  of 
appealing  effectively  to  the  average  individual  than  have  the 
more  traditionalized  and  conventionalized  precepts  of  religious 
authority.  According  to  this  view,  Christian  ethics  has  failed 
because  it  is  contrary  to  human  nature,  and  by  implication  the 
so-called  objective,  or  scientific,  ethics  will  fail  for  the  self-same 
reason.  For,  the  argument  runs,  human  nature  is  essentially 


10  Cf.  C.  A.  Ellwood,  The  Reconstruction  of  Religion,  a  Sociological 
View,  1922 ;  V.  Pareto,  Traits  de  Sociologic  Gtintirale,  1914,  Ch.  1. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


309 


and  narrowly  and  directly  selfish;  the  joy  of  life  is  in  compe¬ 
tition,  struggle,  and  the  exercise  of  power;  human  progress  is 
largely  the  result  of  war,  conquest,  and  the  violent  elimination 
of  the  “unfit”;  your  democratic,  Christian,  “neighbor  moral¬ 
ity,”  try  to  disguise  it  as  you  will  by  calling  it  “scientific”  or 
“objective”  and  appealing  to  the  “new  psychology,”  is  bound 
to  fail  because  of  the  very  inherited  instinctive  equipment  which 
has  been  dealt  with  in  these  pages — the  instincts  of  fear,  pug¬ 
nacity,  and  acquisitiveness.  This,  in  effect,  is  the  argument,  not 
only  of  protesting  rebels  against  romantic  sentimentalism,  like 
Nietzsche,  but  of  all  the  militarists  and  a  large  number  of  “hard- 
headed”  business  men.  It  is  also,  unfortunately,  pretty  nearly 
the  position  taken  by  not  a  few  social  scientists  who,  in  their 
overly-sensitive  fear  of  any  reference  to  ‘  ‘  ought  ’  ’  and  ‘  ‘  should,  ’  ’ 
would  make  social  science,  if  they  were  consistent,  a  barren 
intellectual  pastime,  the  indoor  sport  of  highbrows. 

That  there  is,  however,  some  cogency  in  this  line  of  argument 
may  be  admitted.  That  the  narrowly  self-seeking  and  com¬ 
bative  tendencies  in  human  nature  are  very  strong  we  have 
indeed  emphasized ;  and  we  must  re-emphasize  that  it  is  precisely 
these  traits  which  now  stand  in  the  way  of  the  effective  func¬ 
tioning  of  the  Great  Society.  That  these  instincts,  developed 
during  long  ages  of  biological  evolution,  can  at  a  turn  of  the 
hand  be  eliminated  no  one  will  claim.  But  there  is  also  no 
scientific  ground  to  suppose  that  they  cannot  by  ontogenetic 
adaptation  be  minimized  and  sublimated  to  a  degree  which  will 
gradually  remove  them  as  obstructions  to  the  co-operative  func¬ 
tioning  of  our  individual  capacities  and  our  social  organization. 

It  is  certainly  true  that  man’s  instinctive  inheritance  includes 
narrow  selfishness  and  conflict  psychology,  but  it  is  equally  true, 
and  quite  as  significant,  that  these  characteristics  have  been  sys¬ 
tematically  cultivated  and  reinforced  by  the  nationalistic  and 
commercialistic  rivalries  of  civilized  times,  by  the  self-help, 
individualistic  philosophy,  and  by  militant  religion  itself. 

Man’s  instinctive  inheritance,  however,  also  includes  other 
powerful  tendencies,  which  are  not  directly  and  narrowly  self- 
regarding.  Among  these  are  sympathy,  play,  gregariousness, 
desire  for  recognition,  and  impulses  to  self-expression  through 
curiosity,  workmanship,  aesthetic  creation,  and  the  like.  Nor 
must  it  be  forgotten  that  in  spite  of  apparent  indications  to 


310  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

the  contrary,  man  is  a  rational  animal.  He  has  always  reasoned 
logically  with  regard  to  his  interests,  within  the  limits  of  his 
knowledge  and  intellectual  capacity.  With  reasonable  oppor¬ 
tunity  to  secure  objective  knowledge,  and  with  better  intellec¬ 
tual  discipline,  we  may  look  for  him  to  arrive  in  the  future  at 
less  illusory  beliefs  and  attitudes  than  he  has  in  the  past.  When 
direct  individualism-of -means  proves  inimical  to  the  best  inter¬ 
ests  of  the  individual  himself,  it  should  not  be  regarded  as  a 
hopeless  task  to  get  him  to  see  that  fact. 

It  will  not  be  questioned  that  the  combat  instincts  have  to 
some  extent  been  sublimated  by  social  controls  and  training,  so 
that  infra-group  conflict  has  been  reduced  and  regulated  enough 
to  enable  the  group  to  acquire,  if  not  perfect  peace  and  internal 
security,  at  least  sufficient  cohesion  and  capacity  to  meet  the 
pressures  of  outside  groups.  In  fact,  what  we  call  civilization 
and  socialization  have  been  accomplished,  in  no  small  measure, 
just  by  the  process  of  enlarging  the  group  within  which  conflict' 
is  prohibited  or  mitigated  and  refined.  That  there  yet  remains 
much  work  in  reducing  the  amount  and  intensity  of  infra-group 
conflict  is  but  too  evident.  It  should  be  clear,  also,  that  this 
reduction  should  not  come  about  through  oppression  of  the 
weaker  by  the  stronger.  So  long  as  such  a  tendency  persists, 
there  will  inevitably  remain  the  seeds  of  potential  conflict.  But 
where,  with  the  growth  of  democracy,  the  various  social  classes 
become  somewhat  more  evenly  balanced  in  power  and  organiza¬ 
tion,  there  is  hope  that  the  recognized  necessity  for  tolerance 
will  force  the  adoption  of  objective  methods  of  resolving  inter¬ 
est  conflicts.  Mere  enlarging  of  the  size  of  the  group  is  not 
enough  without  this  rational  diminution  of  the  causes  of  inter¬ 
nal  conflict.  Frequently  the  process  of  group  enlargement  is 
too  rapid,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Alexandrine  and  Roman  Em¬ 
pires,  and  the  overgrown  group  breaks  up.  Such  cases  only 
emphasize  the  fact,  however,  that  the  unity  of  the  group  must 
be  real,  and  that  it  is  as  difficult  to  base  real  unity  on  conquest 
and  military  power  as  it  seems  to  many  chimerical  to  attempt 
to  base  it  on  a  developed  sense  of  mutual  interests. 

Those  who  insist  that  the  conflict  ethics  is  more  nearly  in  ac¬ 
cord  with  human  nature  than  co-operative  ethics  overlook  or 
unduly  minimize  both  the  sympathetic  and  the  rational  aspects 
of  human  nature.  Moreover,  while  they  counsel  loyalty  within 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


311 


the  group,  and  feel  that  there  it  is  not  contrary  to  the  nature 
of  man,  they  more  or  less  consciously  stimulate  and  cultivate 
combat  attitudes  between  groups.  The  inter-group  conflict 
which  they  declare  inevitable  is  thus  in  a  measure  made  so  by 
artificial  stimulation  and  unnecessary  emphasis  on  interest  dif¬ 
ferences.  The  same  is  true  of  those  who  insist  that  narrow, 
direct  selfishness  is  an  innate  and  ineradicable  trait.  They 
cultivate  and  encourage  the  very  part  of  our  nature  which  we 
should  be  modifying  and  sublimating  in  the  direction  of  a 
broader  and  more  rational  selfishness. 

Neither  the  theory  that  man  is  pre-eminently  and  unchange¬ 
ably  a  combative  animal,  nor  the  theory  that  his  selfishness  is 
so  inevitably  narrow  and  direct,  if  he  is  left  to  his  own  guidance 
without  the  support  of  super-rational  sanctions,  is  sufficiently 
near  the  whole  truth  to  warrant  in  us  pessimism  as  to  the  prac¬ 
ticability  and  utility  of  establishing  an  objective,  rational 
sanction. 

If  the  Great  Society  is  to  be  made  to  work  at  all  satisfactorily, 
the  world  will  have  to  be  brought  to  a  clear  theoretical  insight 
into  the  objective  ethics  of  democracy  and  into  the  most  economi¬ 
cal  and  effective,  that  is,  the  most  moral,  methods  of  approxi¬ 
mating  democracy  in  practise.  This  means  of  course  that  the 
world  will  not  only  have  to  do  much  pointed  thinking  on  ethics, 
but  that  it  will  have  to  have  an  immense  body  of  knowledge  on 
social  relations  and  processes.  Given  requisite  knowledge,  we 
shall  find  it  far  easier  to  subordinate  narrow  selfishness  and  per¬ 
sonal  sentiments  to  the  needs  of  social  co-operation  than  we 
now  think. 

Reduced  to  their  lowest  terms,  the  prerequisites  to  making  the 
Great  Society  safe  and  productive  of  life  worth  living  for  all 
its  members  are  two:  the  requisite  knowledge  and  the  appro¬ 
priate  attitudes. 

The  knowledge  which  we  must  have,  but  as  yet  are  sorely 
deficient  in  possessing,  is  objective,  systematized,  scientific 
knowledge  of  social  relations  and  processes  in  all  their  aspects. 
That  there  are  great  difficulties  in  its  acquirement,  both  in  the 
nature  and  method  of  sociological  research  and  in  the  obstacles 
put  in  the  way  by  popular-mindedness,  we  have  pointed  out 
(Chapter  IN).  Yet  without  such  knowledge,  and,  furthermore, 
persistent  educational  effort  to  diffuse  the  scientific  attitude 


312  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

through  the  population  at  large,  we  shall  continue  to  be  at  the 
mercy,  relatively,  of  the  combative,  personalistic,  and  obstructive 
sentiments  of  conservatives  and  reactionaries  on  one  side,  and 
the  militant  sentiments  of  dogmatic  radicals  on  the  other. 

Given  this  scientific  knowledge  of  society,  and  its  diffusion 
as  well  as  may  be  among  the  men  and  women  whose  sentiments 
and  opinions  constitute  the  final  court  of  appeal  in  a  democratic 
society,  is  knowledge  enough? 

In  itself,  it  is  not. 

For  in  default  of  a  profound  change  in  our  attitudes,  intel¬ 
lectual  education  and  development  alone  will  be  inadequate  to 
the  great  task  before  us.  Only  to  the  extent  that  we  acquire 
the  scientific  attitude  shall  we  be  able  to  strike  a  just  balance 
between  fossilized  stability  and  impatient  volatility,  and  h 
capacity,  unterrified  by  slogans,  claptrap,  and  epithets,  to  choose 
wisely  and  magnanimously,  after  a  survey  of  the  divergent 
paths  of  conservatism  and  radicalism,  the  course  we  shall  take. 

We  need  more  than  scientific  method  and  scientific  attitude, 
as  these  are  commonly  understood  by  the  physical  scientist.  As 
we  tried  to  show,  in  Chapter  X,  an  indispensable  aid  to  scien¬ 
tific  observation,  where  human  beings  and  their  motives  are 
involved,  is  sympathy.  Without  sympathetic  insight,  a  thor¬ 
ough  and  delicate  study  of  the  motives  which  dominate  social 
processes  cannot  be  made. 

Moreover,  without  sympathy  social  co-operation  must  be  tre¬ 
mendously  hampered.  Both  from  the  standpoint  of  pure  science 
and  from  that  of  a  practical  ethics,  therefore,  it  is  the  part  of 
wisdom  to  encourage  the  development  and  expression  of  rational 
sympathy  in  every  possible  way. 

The  world  needs,  in  fact,  to  be  converted  to  Christianity 
almost  as  much  as  it  does  to  science.  Needless  to  say,  by  Chris- 
tiantiy  is  not  here  meant  theology  or  ritual,  ecclesiastical  aes¬ 
thetics  or  other-worldliness,  much  less  Sabbatarianism,  heresy¬ 
hunting,  conventional  charity,  and  holier-than-thou  attitudes. 
What  is  meant  is  precisely  the  human  ethics  of  Jesus,  the  social 
point  of  view,  the  real,  inner,  ethical  democracy  which  respects 
the  personality  of  man,  woman,  and  child,  native  and  alien, 
black  and  white,  manual  toiler  and  brain-worker;  which  is 
dominated  by  that  fundamental  self-respect  which  forbids  one 
either  to  be  a  parasite  or  to  be  subsidized  by  the  toil  of  others; 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


313 


which  makes  one  recognize  one’s  self  as  an  end,  but  as  an  end 
whose  fulfillment  is  not  to  be  sought  through  using  or  regarding 
others  primarily  as  means;  which  puts  modern  content  into  the 
organic  conception  “We  are  members  one  of  another,”  and 
so  leads  us  to  see  that  the  broader  individualism  of  ends  can 
be  served  only  through  sympathy,  concerted  volition,  and  con¬ 
structive  co-operation;  in  short,  a  socialism  of  means  organized 
on  the  broadest  mechanistic  and  humanistic  basis. 

It  is  because  we  believe  that  a  general  diffusion  of  social 
knowledge  and  of  the  scientific  method  and  attitude  would  bring 
us  to  this  self-respecting,  co-operative,  genuinely  Christian  spirit 
much  sooner  and  much  more  effectively  than  the  fears  and 
special  interests  of  conservatism,  the  headlong  desire-reinforce¬ 
ment  of  emotional  radicals,  or  the  mystical  absolutes  and  pre¬ 
scriptive  imperatives  of  the  theological  ethicists,  that  we  pin 
our  faith  in  the  possibility  of  social  salvation — the  transfor¬ 
mation  of  the  present  chaotic  Great  Society  into  an  efficient 
co-operative  mechanism — to  the  scientific  method  and  attitude. 

Here,  then,  if  the  Great  Society  is  not  to  become  a  grim  and 
tragic  travesty  on  human  reason,  are  our  specific  tasks:  (1)  to 
develop  all  the  intellectual  capacity  we  potentially  possess,  and 
to  apply  it  to  the  scientific  rationalization  of  interest  conflicts; 
(2)  to  free  knowledge  from  censorship  of  any  kind;  (3)  to 
secure  in  our  leaders  and  in  the  general  population  as  rapidly  as 
possible  a  near  approach  to  the  scientific  attitude;  (4)  to  de¬ 
velop  sympathy  between  nations  and  classes,  and  a  spirit  of  tol¬ 
erance  and  understanding;  (5)  to  acquire  a  morality  of  self- 
respect,  such  that  the  privileged  will  be  ashamed  to  cling,  either 
by  force  or  by  casuistry,  to  the  right  of  subsidy  and  parasitism, 
and  the  masses  will  refuse  to  be  subservient  means  to  any  end 
not  inclusive  of  themselves. 

These  tasks  involve  the  toning  down  of  the  instincts  of  pug¬ 
nacity,  acquisitiveness,  self-aggrandizement,  and  self-abasement, 
which  have  made  possible  the  long  reign  of  the  master-and-ser- 
vant  ethics.  They  involve  the  upbuilding  of  a  new  social  philos¬ 
ophy  in  the  place  of  the  eighteenth  century  natural-rights 
individualism  which  still  dominates  us.  They  involve  the  sub¬ 
stitution  of  a  co-operative  psychology  of  production  for  the 
prevalent  business  psychology  of  acquisition. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  in  a  sense  we  have  a  choice  between 


314  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

scientific  Christianity  (if  the  term  may  be  permitted,  and  its 
meaning  is  clear  from  the  preceding  context)  and  cynical,  com¬ 
bative  commercialism.  Content  with  drift,  we  can  join  the  anti- 
intellectualists  in  their  reliance  upon  competition  and  elimin¬ 
ative  struggle  to  produce  whatever  social  advance  there  is  to  be. 
Or  we  can  entertain  a  more  virile  conviction  that  when  human 
intellect  and  reasoning  capacity  appeared  in  the  play  of  evolu¬ 
tion  a  new  character  was  given  to  social  development,  and  that 
sooner  or  later  the  stage  will  have  to  be  reset  not  only  for  ration¬ 
ally,  but  for  scientifically,  directed  progress.  Is  it  too  much  to 
hope,  with  John  Dewey  and  others,  that  we  have  now  arrived  at 
the  stage  of  creative  intelligence  and  that  we  can  develop  a  tech¬ 
nique  for  directing  our  social  destinies  in  a  rational  manner? 
No  certain  answer  can  be  given  to  this  question.  The  events 
of  the  past  decade  do  not  give  over-much  encouragement. 
How  great  our  constructive  capacity,  and  how  creative  our 
intelligence,  can  be  determined  only  through  greater  oppor¬ 
tunity  for  their  discovery  and  development,  a  better  organiza¬ 
tion  of  our  productive  and  directive  forces,  and  in  general  a 
much  fuller  application  of  science  in  the  solution  of  social  prob¬ 
lems.  We  have  not  been  so  successful  in  securing  human 
safety  and  welfare,  even  ignoring  the  retrogression  of  the  past 
decade,  that  we  should  shrink  too  much  from  social  experiment. 
Even  with  much  fuller  development  of  social  science  than  any¬ 
thing  now  in  sight,  a  considerable  use  of  the  trial-and-error 
method  will  for  a  long  time  be  necessary.11 

If  social  evolution  is  to  he  directed,  if  it  is  to  become  in  a 
measure  a  scientifically  rationalized  process,  we  must,  to  repeat, 
reach  some  agreement  as  to  where  we  want  to  go.  Unless  the 
analysis  in  the  preceding  chapters  has  been  grossly  inaccurate 
and  inadequate,  the  fair  conclusion  is  that  we  shall  take  the 
road  to  democracy,  if  we  are  wise.  It  is  perhaps  equally  clear 
that  we  shall  not  take  it  if  the  vested  interests  have  their  way; 
that  our  progress  will  be  halting  if  we  permit  ourselves  to  be 
held  back  by  the  irrational  fears  of  the  disinterested  conserva- 


11  Herein  lies  the  shortsightedness,  if  it  be  not  due  to  domination  by 
special  interests  which  do  not  desire  the  experiment  tried  for  fear  it 
may  be  successful,  of  the  State  Department’s  refusal,  in  violation  of 
long-established  precedent  in  international  law,  to  recognize  the  de  facto 
governments  in  Russia  and  Mexico. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


315 


tives;  and  that  we  shall  be  frequently  drawn  off  the  main  road 
if  we  follow  the  leads  of  personalistic,  praise-and-blame  radical¬ 
ism. 

If  we  are  to  find  a  way  out  of  the  world’s  present  compara¬ 
tive  anarchy,  if  we  are  to  be  the  masters  and  not  the  victims  of 
the  Great  Society,  it  will  be  only  under  a  leadership  measur¬ 
ably  adequate  to  the  task.  For  all  social  tasks,  whether  of 
rehabilitation  or  of  new  construction,  are  co-operative,  and  no 
attempt  at  co-operation  has  ever  yet  succeeded  without  the  co-or¬ 
dinating  services  of  leaders  equipped  at  once  with  a  clear  con¬ 
ception  of  the  purposes  to  be  accomplished,  and  capacity  to  guide 
and  understand  the  rank  and  file  of  the  individuals  and  groups 
whose  co-operative  good  will  and  labor  is  essential.  The  people, 
like  a  drowning  man,  may  either  aid  in  their  own  rescue,  or 
under  the  influence  of  terrorizing  fear,  make  rescue  diffi¬ 
cult  or  impossible.  Fanatical  loyalties,  emotional  intolerances, 
combat  attitudes,  paralyzing  the  rational  centers,  may  produce 
a  comparable  result  in  society. 

Enough,  perhaps,  has  been  said  in  the  preceding  pages  con¬ 
cerning  the  obstacles  which  leadership  must  find  a  way  to  over¬ 
come.  Without  falling  into  the  pessimism  of  certain  intellec¬ 
tuals  with  regard  to  the  alleged  insurmountability  of  the 
obstacles  presented  by  “ human  nature”  and  popular-minded- 
ness,  we  yet  have  just  grounds  for  fearing  that  the  people,  with 
their  emotional  attitudes  and  their  comparative  ignorance  of 
social  forces,  are  their  own  worst  obstacle  to  a  better  and  more 
rational  ordering  of  their  social  life.  All  the  more  reason,  then, 
for  disinterested  leadership,  and  for  the  kind  of  education  that 
will  help  to  produce  it. 

It  should  be  the  function  of  behavioristic  psychology  to  ana¬ 
lyze  human  nature,  without  fear  or  favor.  The  active  leader 
of  affairs,  on  his  part,  has  to  meet  and  manage  human  nature, 
with  all  its  elements  of  fear,  habit,  sentimental  valuations,  nar¬ 
row  personal  interests,  casuistic  rationalizations,  and  active  com¬ 
bativeness,  and  to  modify  it  or  utilize  it  as  best  he  can  for  con¬ 
structive  social  purposes.  There  can  be  little  question  that  the 
existing  traits  of  human  nature  can  be  modified  more  effectively 
by  leaders  who,  through  wide  knowledge  of  behavioristic  psy¬ 
chology  as  well  as  practical  experience,  know  their  genetic  caus¬ 
ation,  than  by  leaders  who  act  wholly  or  in  large  part  under  the 


316  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

impulses  of  personalistic  praise-and-blame  philosophy  and  com¬ 
bat  attitudes. 

The  clue  to  the  way  out  of  the  present  situation — if  there  is 
one — thus  lies  in  the  temperament  and  the  education  of  the  men 
and  women  chosen  to  lead.  No  one  type  of  temperament  and 
intellect  can  take  us  out.  As  was  suggested  in  Chapter  VIII, 
social  leadership  itself  must  be  a  co-operative  process,  with  a 
tolerably  clear  division  of  labor  between  the  active  men  of 
affairs  and  managers  of  “movements”  and  the  critically  intel¬ 
lectual,  scientific  men  who  refrain  from  much  active  participa¬ 
tion  in  the  settlement  of  social  issues  and,  in  particular,  exer¬ 
cise  caution  in  allying  themselves  with  parties  or  sects  of  any 
kind. 

The  relation  of  the  critically  intellectual,  scientific  mind  to 
constructive  leadership  may  be  indicated  in  a  few  paragraphs. 

The  purely  critical,  intellectual  mind,  did  such  a  thing  exist, 
would  be  devoid  of  any  emotions  save  those  attached  to  the  func¬ 
tioning  of  curiosity,  the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  and,  perhaps,  the 
instinct  of  workmanship.  Actually,  however,  the  only  difference 
between  the  critically  intellectual  and  the  dogmatic-emotional 
mind  is  that  while  the  former  may  have  strong  conflict  emo¬ 
tions  and  impulses,  they  are  kept  in  tolerably  strict  subordina¬ 
tion  to  the  critical  reason,  to  the  spirit  of  scientific  objectivity 
and  balance,  and  to  the  impulse  to  constructive  workmanship. 
More  especially,  are  the  fear-anger  complexes  and  combative 
impulses  kept  under  strict  control,  in  the  interest  of  clearness 
of  vision,  true  analysis  of  the  causes  of  social  obstruction,  and 
a  true  evaluation  of  the  interests  obstructed. 

The  scientific  reaction  to  an  obstruction  to  wish-fulfillment, 
even  though,  the  obstruction  be  found  to  lie  in  the  attitudes  of 
human  individuals  or  groups,  is  not  personalistic.  The  obstruc¬ 
tion,  and  the  obstructors,  are  taken  “philosophically,”  and 
regarded  with  scientific  interest.  The  true  social  scientist  will 
reach  a  point  where  he  can  regard  a  human  enemy  of  society, 
a  secret  diplomatist,  a  monopolistic  profiteer,  a  corrupt  labor 
leader,  or  a  sadistic  criminal  imbecile,  for  instance,  with  the 
same  scientific  curiosity  and  objectivity  with  which  an  entomolo¬ 
gist  regards  a  boll  weevil  or  gypsy  moth,  or  a  bacteriologist  a 
congregation  of  staphylococci  or  colon  bacilli.  His  first  inter¬ 
est  is  to  know  the  nature  of  the  thing;  knowing  that,  he  will 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


317 


tell  the  rest  of  ns  what  to  do  about  it.  It  is  not  “up  to”  the 
laboratory  bacteriologist  to  get  out  and  conduct  a  public  health 
campaign,  any  more  than  it  is  “up  to ”  the  sociologist  to  become 
a  deputy  marshal  and  chase  down  the  insane  criminal. 

While  as  a  man,  with  desires,  emotions,  passions,  and  interests 
like  other  men,  the  critically  intellectual  individual  may  be  at 
times  tempted  to  indulge  in  personalistic,  blame-anger  reactions, 
as  a  scientist  he  replaces  personal  blame  with  genetic  explana¬ 
tion.  His  impulse,  as  a  man,  may  be  to  damn  the  obstructive 
traits  and  persons ;  as  a  scientist  his  attitude  is  one  of  attentive 
curiosity.  Why  do  these  people  assume  this  obstructionist  atti¬ 
tude?  And  is  the  obstruction  due  wholly  to  personal  attitudes 
and  interests,  or  is  the  explanation  to  be  sought  further  afield? 

Having  answered  these  questions  to  the  best  of  his  knowledge 
and  research  ability,  having  laid  bare  the  real  causes  so  far  as 
he  can,  he  may  co-operate  with  the  active  leaders  to  the  extent 
of  passing  on  to  them  the  results  of  his  investigations,  and  of 
suggesting  the  probable  best  methods,  first  for  the  removal  of 
the  obstruction,  personal  or  otherwise,  and  then  for  positive 
construction. 

This  is  presumably  as  far  as  the  typical  scientific  mind  will, 
or  should  go.  In  the  interest  of  scientific  objectivity,  and  that 
means  in  the  interest  of  truth,  it  must  protect  its  intellectual, 
processes  from  the  emotional  strains  and  stresses  of  field  leader¬ 
ship. 

It  follows  that  the  scientific  mind  fails  to  function  socially 
unless  the  results  of  its  work  are  taken  up  and  applied  by  active 
leaders.  The  only  exception  to  this  rule  is  found  in  those  com¬ 
paratively  rare  individuals  who  can  lend  their  active  aid,  and 
actively  take  sides  on  public  issues  and  movements,  without 
impairing  their  open-minded  objectivity. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  open- 
minded  scientist,  when  his  thought  and  investigational  ability 
are  turned  upon  social  organization  and  processes,  in  many 
cases  does  become  something  of  a  radical,  in  sentiment  and  con¬ 
viction,  if  not  in  activity.  He  cannot  take  popularly  accepted 
sentiments  and  principles  uncritically  at  their  face  value.  He 
is  in  position  to  see  the  irrationality  and  the  scientific  ground¬ 
lessness  of  many  popular  superstitions,  beliefs,  and  convictions. 
He  notes  a  lack  of  correspondence  between  theory  and  practise. 


318  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

He  sees  the  make-believe,  the  chicane,  and  the  claptrap  of  much 
of  our  public  life  and  conventional  posing.  He  may  have  balked 
interests  of  his  own — perhaps,  for  instance,  popular  hue  and 
cry  against  freedom  of  scientific  research — and  he  naturally 
turns  the  light  of  scientific  analysis  upon  the  sourcestand  causes 
of  these  popular  illusions.  He  may  also,  like  others,  be  a  man 
of  wide  and  sensitive  sympathies,  with  a  keen  perception  of  the 
unnecessary  restrictions  to  which  people  less  fortunately  situ¬ 
ated  than  himself  are  subject.  If  he  be  socially-minded,  he  will, 
under  some  complex  of  motives  probably  derived  jointly  from 
sympathy  and  something  akin  to  an  instinct  of  workmanship, 
survey  and  evaluate  the  possible  methods  by  which  these  limita¬ 
tions  can  be  lessened  or  removed.  Social  injustice  and  exploita¬ 
tion  will  stimulate  both  his  sentiments  and  his  intellectual 
processes,  and  social  inefficiency  will  be  offensive — and  conse¬ 
quently  stimulative — to  his  sense  of  good  workmanship.  Such 
a  man,  or  woman,  has  to  be  constantly  on  his  guard  to  keep 
a  proper  balance  between  his  sympathies  and  his  critical  fac¬ 
ulty.  A  deterministic  philosophy  and  a  mechanistic  psychol¬ 
ogy,  scientifically  necessary,  are  the  greatest  aids  in  this  task. 
Taking  these  standpoints,  he  knows,  if  he  “ explodes’ ’  occasion¬ 
ally  in  a  tirade  of  objurgation  of  human  obstinacy,  selfishness, 
and  ignorance,  that  such  explosion  is  only  a  temporary  catharsis 
for  his  over-charged  sensibilities.  He  will  countenance  the  use 
of  blame  or  objurgation  as  a  social  goad  to  get  people  to  recede 
from  obstructive  attitudes,  but  the  logic  or  the  utility  of  blame 
in  any  other  sense  he  cannot  see.  “  Responsibility  ’  ’  in  the 
popular  sense  is  replaced,  in  his  view  of  things,  simply  by  the 
stream  or  nexus  of  genetic  causation.  Responsibility  for  obstruc¬ 
tion,  in  this  sense,  is  attributed  partly  to  personal  characteris¬ 
tics  (the  causation  of  which  is  open  to  analysis),  partly  to  the 
influence  of  institutions  and  mores  (the  ‘ 4 system”),  partly  to 
historical  evolution. 

The  main  characteristics  of  the  actual  leader  of  radical  move¬ 
ments  were  suggested  with  sufficient  fullness  in  Chapter  VIII. 
To  state  the  ideal  qualifications  of  the  constructive  leader 
(whether  liberal  or  radical)  is  less  easy.  Perhaps  it  will  suffice 
to  say  that  the  constructive  leader  must  avoid  the  indecision 
popularly,  and  with  some  justification,  attributed  to  the  criti¬ 
cally  intellectual  mind,  but  that  at  the  same  time  he  will  respect 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


319 


the  scientist’s  objectivity  of  spirit  and  eqnip  himself  with  the 
knowledge  which  the  scientist  is  able  to  hand  on  to  him.  This 
does  not  mean  any  desultory*  “  keeping  up  with  the  advancement 
of  science.”  It  means,  if  the  actual  leader  and  the  scientist  are 
actually  to  be  in  touch  with  each  other,  that  the  actual  leader 
will  have  a  specialized  organization  the  function  of  which  will 
be  to  have  at  hand  the  scientifically  established  data  upon  which 
policy,  if  not  aim,  must  be  based.  Nor  will  the  scientist  on  his 
part  refuse  such  information  and  advice  as  he  has  to  give.  He 
will  refuse  only  to  give  categorical  yes  or  no,  favorable  or 
unfavorable,  answers  where — as  in  most  cases — categorical 
answers  cannot  truthfully  be  given. 

The  scientist  may  be  without  moral  convictions  or  norms, 
although  if  the  thesis  we  have  attempted  to  set  up  as  a  work¬ 
ing  hypothesis  with  regard  to  the  fundamental  relation  be¬ 
tween  ethics  and  science  be  true,  the  social  scientist  at  least, 
to  be  thoroughly  scientific,  must  have  ethical  norms,  funda¬ 
mental  norms,  of  a  quite  definite  and  unequivocal  character,  in 
fact. 

It  is  just  at  this  point,  and  through  a  full  knowledge  and 
clear  understanding  of  the  significance  of  scientific  determinism 
and  mechanistic  psychology,  that  the  active  leader  and  the 
research  scientist  will  come  into  the  closest  contact  and  exhibit 
the  closest  co-operation.  We  need  not  fear  that  this  contact 
will  not  be  beneficial  to  both,  as  well  as  to  society  at  large.  For 
the  “intellectualist”  will  gain  an  objectivity  at  once  more 
sensitive  to  facts  and  less  delicately  liable  to  perversion  by 
emotional  strain.  And  the  active  leader,  without  losing,  like 
Buridan’s  ass,  his  power  of  making  decisions,  will  gain  in 
capacity  to  see  a  situation  as  a  whole  in  something  like  its  true 
perspective.  The  ideal  active  leader  will  probably  have  a  type 
of  mind  belonging  to  the  highest  dogmatic-emotional,  but  below 
the  scientific,  level.  The  essential  difference  is  that  the  scientific 
man  is  extremely  cautious  in  coming  to  a  definite  decision  on 
policy  before  he  is  convinced  that  he  has  all  the  essential  facts, 
while  the  leader  of  a  movement — almost  any  executive,  in  fact — 
knows  that  he  has  to  make  definite,  and  perhaps  signally  import¬ 
ant,  decisions  as  to  ways  and  means,  in  the  absence  of  complete 
data.  The  scientist  can  find  refuge  in  an  hypothesis.  The 
actual  leader  must  act,  and  his  act  is  a  reality,  with  the  conse- 


320  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

quences  of  reality.  And  it  should  be  remarked  in  passing  that 
the  terms  4  ‘  higher  ’  ’  and  ‘  ‘  lower,  ’  ’  when  applied  to  the  critically 
intellectual  and  the  higher  ranks  of  the  dogmatic-emotional 
class,  respectively,  are  not  to  be  taken  too  literally  or  as  imply¬ 
ing  an  invidious  comparison.  For  the  tasks  of  the  honest,  intel¬ 
lectual,  informed  leader  are  certainly  as  difficult  as  those  of  the 
scientist,  and  obviously  call  for  a  type  of  courage  in  which  the 
scientist  may  be  totally  deficient.  The  actual  leader  has  to  take 
many  a  chance  of  doing  the  wrong  thing,  at  junctures  where 
a  wrong  decision  may  have  extremely  bad  consequences.  All 
the  more  reason,  therefore,  why  he  should  avail  himself  of  all 
the  knowledge  and  information  he  can  get  from  the  objective 
scientist. 

It  has  been  the  underlying  thought  throughout  this  book,  a 
thought  definitely  expressed  in  the  present  chapter,  as  well  as 
in  Chapters  VIII  and  IX,  that  escape  from  the  personalism  and 
combativeness  of  the  conservatism-radicalism  conflict  can  be  had 
only  through  a  great  development  of  scientific  knowledge  of 
social  relations  and  a  profound  change  in  social  attitudes.12  A 
new  spirit  must  come  to  at  least  three  classes  of  people:  to  the 
scientists,  especially  the  social  scientists,  who  must  take  consider¬ 
ably  more  intelligent  interest  in  the  ethical  function  of  science ; 
to  the  active  leaders,  who  must  gain  more  of  the  scientific  atti¬ 
tude  ;  and  to  the  general  populace,  who  must  be  brought  to  less 
intolerance,  personalism,  and  combativeness,  and  to  something 
nearer  an  objective  view  of  life. 

If,  as  is  certainly  true,  this  new  knowledge  and  this  modifica¬ 
tion  of  attitudes  can  be  had  only  under  wise,  disinterested,  and 
broad-minded  leadership,  whence  will  come  the  leaders  adequate 
to  the  task? 

Mr.  Slichter,13  after  a  survey  of  the  support,  both  intellectual 

12  People  have  always  been  demanding  a  “new  spirit,*  of  course.  Such 
a  demand  is  the  central  sentiment  of  evangelism  of  whatever  type, 
whether  ecclesiastical  or  “social.”  But  the  demand  varies  in  intensity, 
in  honesty,  and  conventionality.  Even  he  who  runs  as  he  reads  must 
feel  the  reality  and  the  cogency  of  the  demand  as  we  have  it  today. 
No  one  has  made  it  with  more  sincerity  and  greater  freedom  from  tra¬ 
dition  and  conventionality,  perhaps,  and  certainly  with  greater  volumin¬ 
ousness,  than  H.  G.  Wells.  It  was  strikingly  expressed  by  Charles  S. 
Slichter,  in  an  address  entitled  “The  New  Philosophy,”  before  the 
Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  of  the  University  of  Wisconsin,  1922. 

13  Op.  tit.,  p.  14. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


321 


and  financial,  given  by  English  men  of  wealth  to  science — the 
“new  philosophy”  of  the  time — from  Francis  Bacon  on,  and 
of  the  hike-warm  attitude  shown,  to  a  late  date,  by  the  English 
universities,  feels  both  skepticism  and  hope.  To-day,  he  says, 
quoting  an  unnamed  economist,  “in  the  natural  sciences  the 
inventor  and  original  thinker  is  rewarded  and  honored,  but  in 
the  social  sciences  the  inventive  mind  is  more  or  less  ostracised 
and  new  ideas  that  touch  upon  the  key  problems  of  modern 
life,  namely,  the  control  of  human  and  economic  activities,  are 
at  once  branded  as  radical  and  dangerous.”  There  is  perhaps 
an  element  of  exaggeration  and  undue  pessimism,  in  this  conclu¬ 
sion,  and  Mr.  Slichter  forgets  that  the  natural  scientists  them¬ 
selves  had  to  endure  a  long  period  of  popular  hostility.  Cer¬ 
tainly  to-day  the  economists,  if  no  others  among  the  social 
scientists,  are  coming  into  their  own,  if  by  that  we  mean  having 
one’s  advice  sought.  To  be  sure  Main  Street  is  not  yet  aware 
that  they  have  anything  to  contribute,  but  the  Federal  Govern¬ 
ment  and  business  corporations  have  drawn  so  many  of  these 
men  away  from  academic  chairs  that  university  research  and 
teaching  in  economics  are  temporarily  impaired.14 

Mr.  Slichter  is  of  the  opinion  that  the  universities  in  America 
may  have  little  to  do  with  the  development  of  the  new  spirit 
needed  in  the  coming  century. 

“They  do  not  seem  to  be  generating  grounds  for  courage  and 
virility.  I  expect,  therefore,  a  reversal  in  the  position  of  univer¬ 
sity  influence.  In  England  the  spiritual  growth  may  grow  and 
thrive  from  the  universities.  In  America  I  expect  the  hope  of 
the  New  Philosophy  to  lie,  not  with  university  faculties,  but 
with  men  of  the  world;  with  leaders  in  the  industries;  with 
engineers*  and  business  men  and  lawyers  and  men  close  to 
affairs.  ’  ’ 

We  may  share,  mildly,  Mr.  Slichter ’s  pessimism  with  regard 

14  It  is,  of  course,  open  to  question  whether  the  young  economists  who 
enter  the  service  of  business  corporations  and  labor  organizations  be¬ 
come  merely  expert  advocates  for  special  interests,  or  succeed  in  main¬ 
taining  their  scientific  objectivity  and  their  regard  for  the  public  inter¬ 
est.  For  some  questioning  as  to  the  ability  of  the  economists  to  carry 
with  dignity  their  new  role  ms  public  advisers  and  active  leaders,  see 
Jacob  H.  Hollander,  “The  Economist’s  Spiral,”  American  Economic 
Review,  March,  1922  (XII,  No.  1),  pp.  1-20,  the  presidential  address  at 
the  thirty-fourth  annual  meeting  of  the  American  Economic  Association, 
1921. 


322  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

to  the  universities,15  and  look,  with  Mr.  Veblen,  for  a  new  type  of 
social  leadership  on  the  part  of  the  engineers,  but  we  shall  be 
warranted  in  considerable  skepticism  as  to  the  part  likely  to  be 
played,  in  the  near  future  at  least,  by  the  business  men  and 
lawyers.  If  we  must  look  to  the  business  men  for  the  new  lead¬ 
ership  toward  the  scientific  attitude  and  the  essentially  demo¬ 
cratic  spirit,  it  is  safe  to  say  that  it  will  be  found  only  in 
limited  measure  among  the  lawyers  and  merchants  of  Main 
Street,  and  that  it  will  not  soon  be  inspired  by  the  Boosters’ 
Club  of  Zenith.  It  will  come,  if  it  comes  from  the  business 
classes  at  all,  from  the  cream  of  the  big  business  men  of  the 
metropolitan  centers — and  the  chances  are  that  they  will  have 
gained  their  social  point  of  view  from  their  university  training. 

We  cannot  at  present  look,  very  confidently,  for  a  new  spir¬ 
itual  constructiveness,  for  disinterested  and  liberal  progressivism, 
to  the  commercialized  and  intellectually  straight-jacketed  middle- 
classes,  whatever  we  may  hope  for  when  their  sons  and  daugh¬ 
ters  now  in  high  school  and  university  ‘  ‘  get  out  into  life.  ’ ’  For 
the  middle  classes  are  the  buttresses  of  “respectability,”  and 
the  victims  of  their  own  subjective  fears  of  new — “radical,” 
“bolshevist” — ideas.  Leaving  aside  the  liberally  and  technically 
trained  social  scientists,  the  main  hope  lies  in  the  men  and 
women,  in  whatever  vocational  calling,  of  social  position  and 
liberal  culture,  who  are  free  from  the  emotional  pressures 
involved  in  keeping  ahead  of  the  neighbors,  and  in  the  intelli¬ 
gent  working  classes  with  their  balked  interests,  their  reaching 
out  toward  more  liberal  living,  and  their  increasing  number  of 
broad-guage  leaders. 

Above  all,  the  hope  lies  in  the  youth  to  whom  we  may  succeed 
in  giving  a  liberal  education.  And  there’s  the  rub. 

Is  our  education  of  to-day  liberal,  in  a  socially  functional 
sense? 

A  little  education  is  traditionally  a  dangerous  thing.  It  is 
in  fact  the  more  dangerous  in  proportion  to  the  native  mental 
capacity,  the  balked  desires,  and  the  emulative  ambitions  of  the 
masses  whom  we  insist  on  making  “literate.”  Education  not 
directed  with  wide  vision  and  far  sight  to  broad  social  and 


15  He  may  be  suspected  of  having  too  assiduously  and  observantly 
attended  faculty  meetings. 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


323 


ethical  purposes  is  perhaps  quite  as  dangerous.  There  is  excel¬ 
lent  reason  for  thinking  that  much  of  our  education  at  the 
present  time,  despite  all  the  popular  interest  in  it  and  the 
expert  service  devoted  to  it,  is  grievously  misdirected.  This 
doubt — with  the  present  writer  it  amounts  to  a  conviction — 
as  to  the  functional  shortcomings  of  our  educational  processes 
applies  to  the  whole  system,  from  the  lower  grammar  grades 
to  the  curriculum  for  the  A.B.  degree  and  the  graduate  and 
professional  schools.  From  the  standpoints  of  the  needed 
specific  knowledge,  the  tolerance,  the  objectivity,  and  the  co-op¬ 
erative  spirit  essential  to  the  safety  and  the  success  of  the  Great 
Society,  they  come  far  short  of  practical  requirements.  This  is 
due  in  part  to  the  magnitude  and  complexity  of  the  task  that 
must  bo  accomplished  by  them,  if  it  is  accomplished  at  all.  It 
is  due  more,  however,  to  the  fact  that  the  direction  of  our  educa¬ 
tion  is  so  prevalently  in  the  hands  of  men  who  are  still  under 
the  impress  of  the  older  psychology;  the  political  philosophy  of 
self-help  individualism ;  an  uncritical  educational  tradition ;  and 
an  inadequate  subjective  ethics;  if  not  of  an  intolerant,  super¬ 
ficial,  and  static  religious  formalism.  These  acting  directors  are 
thus  seriously  deficient  in  the  scientific  spirit  and  social  attitude 
essential  to  constructive  educational  leadership.  We  bar  from 
consideration  the  considerable  percentage  who  must  be  regarded 
as  politicians  bent  primarily  on  their  own  personal  advance¬ 
ment. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  single  out  the  universities  in  the  ungrate¬ 
ful  task  of  adverse  criticism.  No  part  of  the  system  is  more 
culpable  than  another,  and  there  is  altogether  too  much  “pass¬ 
ing  the  buck”  of  responsibility  among  educational  critics  them¬ 
selves.  To  the  extent  that  the  universities  get  a  chance  to  train 
and  influence  prospective  leaders,  and  are  not  so  swamped  with 
numbers,  in  proportion  to  financial  resources,  that  their  own 
educational  processes  come  to  look  like  a  machine  for  producing 
endless  duplicates  from  the  same  pattern — a  mechanical  going 
through  with  the  motions, — they  are  to  be  held  responsible  in 
no  small  degree  for  the  character  of  future  leadership,  both 
in  the  educational  and  other  fields.  But  it  must  be  remembered 
that  comparatively  few  public  school  teachers  ever  see  the 
inside  of  a  university  class  room.  No  very  great  percentage, 
probably  if  we  take  the  country  as  a  whole,  have  even  the  bene- 


324 


CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 


fits  of  &  normal  school  training,  and  there  is  room  for  some  ques¬ 
tion  as  to  the  amount  of  socially  orienting  value  in  such  training 
when  they  do  get  it.  Ask  any  thoughtful  person  who  has  been 
called  upon  to  teach  classes  of  middle  western  school  ma’ams 
who  drift  into  the  summer  schools  from  the  small  Main  Streets, 
say  of  Kansas,  Missouri,  and  Nebraska,  spending  their  annual 
savings  to  obtain  six  or  eight  weeks  of  culture  which  will  be  of 
“practical  value”  in  their  teaching,  or  at  least  provide  them 
with  the  certificate  of  attendance  which  may  mean  some  slight 
salary  increase.  He  will  tell  you  that  not  a  few  of  them  appear 
to  regard  a  new  idea  as  a  kind  of  social  impropriety,  and  advise 
you  not  to  entertain  a  too  great  confidence  in  the  breadth,  the 
social  efficiency,  or  the  moral  adequacy  of  our  public  school 
education. 

To  be  sure,  there  is  a  vigorous  movement  for  “citizen¬ 
ship  ’  ’  training,  but  carefu1  examination  of  its  aims  and 
methods  will  show  that  it  is  largely  concerned  with  specific 
details  and  machinery,  even  where  it  does  not  spring  from 
more  or  less  sentimental  “Americanization”  impulses.  It  is 
debatable  whether  any  very  significant  development  of  an  objec¬ 
tive  attitude  and  a  genuinely  constructive  spirit  may  be  expected 
from  it.  Dependent  as  it  is  upon  the  temper  of  the  community 
and  the  ability  and  attitudes  of  the  teachers,  its  norms  may 
or  may  not  be  consonant  with  a  progressive  liberalism,  with 
encouragement  to  creative  thinking,  and  with  the  more  funda¬ 
mental  ethical  needs  of  a  Great  Society,  sick  from  too  much 
dogmatism,  intolerance,  and  disorganizing  conflict. 

Jared  Sparks,  once  an  instructor  in  mathematics  and  natural 
philosophy  at  Harvard,  later  a  minister  of  the  Gospel,  and  still 
later  editor  of  the  North  American  Review ,  in  preparing  his 
voluminous  Life  and  Writings  of  George  Washington,  altered, 
in  the  interest  of  sentiment,  some  of  the  writings  of  Washington 
which  gave  indication  that  the  Father  of  his  Country  was  not 
on  all  occasions  the  model  of  conventional  morality  which  the 
youth  of  the  land  have  generally  been  led  to  suppose.  Those 
educators  whose  enthusiasm  for  “safe”  conformity  and  “patri¬ 
otic”  training  in  citizenship  overcomes  their  historical  objec¬ 
tivity  and  their  intellectual  honesty  find  this  a  good  precedent 
for  their  wish  to  extend  such  emendation  and  expurgation  to 
the  lives  of  all  our  heroes.  A  committee  of  New  York  City 
school  principals  appointed  officially  to  examine  and  report  upon 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  325 


the  history  textbooks  used  in  that  city  recommended  the 
following  rule: 

“The  textbook  must  contain  no  statement  in  derogation  or  in 
disparagement  of  the  achievements  of  American  heroes.  It  must 
not  question  the  sincerity  and  purposes  of  the  founders  of  the 
republic  or  of  those  who  have  guided  its  destinies.  ’  ’ 16 

A  superintendent  in  another  city  excluded  an  excellent  high 
school  text  on  social  problems  on  the  ground  that  it  contained 
a  chapter  on  evolution,  and  adopted  an  inferior  but  “safe” 
text.17  A  normal  school  president  forbade  his  English  depart¬ 
ment  to  use  the  New  Republic  in  classes  and  transferred  a  live 
instructor  of  public  speaking  to  work  in  elementary  composi¬ 
tion,  because  his  students  were  getting  so  interested  in  social 
and  economic  problems,  that  the  merchant  residents  of  the  town 
were  objecting  to  his  “teaching”  of  “radicalism.”  The  librarian 
of  a  denominational  college  for  women,  in  a  city  of  a  hundred 
thousand  inhabitants,  expostulated  with  the  instructor  of  sociol¬ 
ogy  for  assigning  Main  Street  to  a  class  to  read,  because  “the 
young  women  will  lose  their  idealism  if  they  read  such  a  book.” 
A  professorial  member  of  a  university  department  refused  to 
look  into  the  qualifications  of  a  possible  appointee  to  a  vacancy, 
because  the  candidate  had  a  name  that  “sounds  Russian  Jew.”' 
A  promising  young  economist  was  driven  out  of  a  western 
university,  to  a  lucrative  position,  incidentally,  with  a  metro¬ 
politan  daily,  because  he  wrote  a  monograph  on  taxation  which 
did  not  meet  with  the  approval  of  the  copper  company  regnant 
in  the  State.  A  professor  of  sociology  in  another  western  State 
university  was  put  through  a  humiliating  doctrinal  examination 
because  a  State  senator  was  sure  that  he  was  a  socialist,  and 
the  ground  for  his  assurance  was  that  he  taught  sociology  and 
“sociology  and  socialism  are  the  same  thing.”1" 


18  The  Historical  Outlook,  Oct.,  1922,  p.  251. 

1T  This  incident  happened  before  the  recent  clerical  and  legislative  hue 
and  cry  against  the  “teaching  of  evolution.” 

18  These  are*  all  actual  incidents,  of  comparatively  recent  occurence. 
A  full  list  would  be  very  long.  Too  recently  in  the  public  print  to  need 
comment  are  the  dismissal,  for  “teaching  evolution”  and  having  his 
students  read  Robinson’s  “The  Mind  in  the  Making,”  of  a  professor  in 
the  University  of  Tennessee,  and  then  of  five  others  who  came  to  his 
support;  the  successful  (?)  fight  against  the  “radicalism”  of  President 
Meiklejohn  at  Amherst;  and  the  widespread  hue  and  cry  against  the 
“unpatriotic”  history  textbooks  of  Professors  Hart,  Robinson,  Mussey, 
West,  and  others. 


326  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

It  is  not  mainly  because  of  such  vested-interest  influence  and 
such  vagaries  of  the  popular  mind,  however,  that  skepticism  as 
to  the  liberal  and  functional  character  of  our  education  finds 
justification.  The  attitudes  revealed  by  such  incidents  do  indi¬ 
cate  that  our  education  cannot  be  said  to  be  liberal,  taking 
liberal  in  the  sense  that  teachers  shall  be  free  to  give  their 
students  their  best  according  to  their  light  and  capacity;  for 
there  is  no  doubt  such  freedom  is  essential  to  an  education 
liberal  in  a  broader  and  deeper  sense  of  the  term.  But  doubt 
as  to  this  broader  functional  liberalism  in  education  rests  on 
other  grounds. 

In  the  first  place  must  be  emphasized  the  entirely  inadequate 
financial  support  given  education.  Let  it  be  said  that  in  the 
aggregate  the  amount  annually  spent  in  this  country  on  educa¬ 
tion,  counting  not  only  that  which  comes  from  taxation,  gifts, 
and  interest  on  endowment  funds,  but  that  spent  directly  by 
students,  probably  mounts  into  the  hundreds  of  millions.  Large 
in  amount  as  this  huge  sum  may  be,  however,  its  largeness  does 
not  count  alongside  the  amount  required  to  fill  the  need  of  the 
Great  Society  for  a  broad  and  genuinely  liberal  education 
which  will  produce  an  adequate  supply  of  leaders  and  raise  the 
masses  above  the  level  of  mere  “literacy”  (an  illusional  fetish). 
The  comparisons  frequently  made  between  the  amount  devoted 
to  education  and  the  amount  spent  on  candy,  cosmetics,  tobacco, 
and  pleasure  cars  are  perhaps  not  entirely  to  the  point.  Barring 
automobiles,  these  are  comparatively  small  expenditures  made 
by  all  classes  of  our  people.  The  per  capita  cost  of  these  com¬ 
forts  or  conventional  necessities  is  relatively  small;  it  must  be 
remembered  that  we  are  a  population  of  110,000,000,  and  that 
a  small  per  capita  expenditure  runs  up  into  an  enormous  sum 
in  the  aggregate.  The  real  wastes  and  extravagances  lie  else¬ 
where — in  advertising,  in  the  senselessly  rapid  changes  of 
fashion,  in  emulative  waste  in  dress  and  house  furnishings, 
in  the  heavy  costs  of  selling  goods,  in  military  expenditures, 
in  inefficient  government  organization  and  service,  in  the  inflated 
standards  of  living  rendered  possible  by  monopoly,  vested  inter¬ 
est,  capitalization  of  intangible  assets,  and  socially  created  land 
values.  There  can  be  no  reasonable  doubt  that  the  American 
people — the  productive  adults — could  spend,  as  soon  as  they 
care  to  do  so,  five  times  as  much  as  they  now  do  for  the  educa- 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


327 


tion  of  their  children.  It  is  only  a  matter  of  a  radical  change 
in  the  valuation  which  they  now  put  on  education.  If  they 
prefer  to  spend  their  money  on  showy  cars,  bridge  parties, 
hotel  bills,  ornate  churches,  and  sojourns  at  Palm  Beach;  or  if 
they  spend  more  taxes  on  concrete  speedways  than  on  schools 
and  public  libraries,  all  that  is  only  an  indication  that  they  do 
not  sense  the  need  of  better  education.  Most  individuals,  in 
fact,  have  but  slight  conception  of  the  nature  and  requirements 
of  the  complex  society  in  which  they  live.  Least  of  all  do  they 
realize  that  a  quintupling  of  the  amount  spent  for  education 
would  repay  itself  over  and  over  again,  not  only  in  a  direct 
greater  capacity  for  living,  but  in  increased  economic  produc¬ 
tive  power.  For  many  parts  of  the  country  are  caught  in  a 
vicious  economic  circle  at  present;  poor  educational  facilities 
mean  inefficient  labor;  that  means  low  economic  productivity, 
a  poor  community,  low  tax  capacity,  and  thence  again  poor 
schools.  Nor  can  we  overlook  the  patent  fact  that  many  per¬ 
sons — it  is  unnecessary  to  specify  of  what  type  and  position — 
do  not  want  better  educational  facilities,  for  fear  that  it  will 
mean  more  “  unrest/ ’  more  demand  for  opportunity  and  democ¬ 
racy,  and  a  working  class  more  intelligent  in  looking  out  for 
its  own  interests. 

If  these  obstructors  of  democracy  and  national  safety  are  not 
to  continue  in  a  measure  to  have  their  way ;  if  our  educational 
system  is  to  serve  the  larger  needs  of  co-operative  democracy 
and  individual  freedom ;  if  it  is  to  prepare  the  oncoming  genera¬ 
tions  for  a  broader-minded  and  less  make-believe  citizenship 
than  the  present  generation  can  offer  as  an  example ;  if  it  is  to 
contribute  what  it  should  to  the  personal  and  institutional  foun¬ 
dations  of  peace  and  social  efficiency;  our  education  must  be 
adequately  supported :  and  that  means  that  where  we  now 
grant  a  million  dollars  we  must  grant  four  or  five  fold  that  sum. 

Conceivably,  Americans  might  be  induced  to  grant  this  larger 
financial  support,  on  the  popular  assumption  that  a  thing  must 
be  excellent  because  it  is  expensive.  But  they  might  also  be 
disillusioned.  Mere  spending  of  money  is  not  enough,  although 
with  more  adequate  financial  support  the  educational  system 
would  no  doubt  automatically  lose  some  of  its  present  shoddy 
character.  Until,  however,  not  only  the  people  but  more  espe¬ 
cially  the  educational  leaders — the  persons  whose  satisfaction  it 


328  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

is  to  be  known  as  “  educators  ” — have  much  deeper  and  broader 
apprehension  of  the  fundamental  social  functions  of  education 
in  a  society  like  ours,  and  until  the  teachers  from  primary  up, 
upon  whom  devolves  the  real  educational  task,  have  a  wider  and 
more  pointedly  social  interest  than  that  implied  in  the  techni¬ 
calities  and  meticulous  conscientiousness  of  “school  manage¬ 
ment”  and  class  room  “methods,”  we  need  look  for  no  rapid 
progress  in  functional  educational,  that  is,  in  the  fitting  of  our 
educational  system  to  the  larger,  fundamental  requirements  of 
the  Great  Society.  Presupposing  something  like  adequate  finan¬ 
cial  support,  the  main  educational  problems  lie  in  personnel, 
in  attitude,  and  in  the  content  of  curricula. 

We  have  repeatedly  touched  upon  the  characteristics  and 
functions  of  leadership.  We  have  just  seen  that  the  way  out 
of  the  present  situation  can  be  found  only  through  leadership 
of  the  requisite  intelligence,  attitude,  and  vision.  Now,  briefly 
and  pointedly,  we  have  to  emphasize  the  fact  that  the  very 
kernel  of  the  whole  problem  and  task  lies  in  the  character  of 
the  educational  leaders — in  securing  a  leadership  that  will  strive 
to  develop  an  educational  system  which  will  insure  a  really 
functional  and  liberal  education.  Let  us  not  lose  sight  of  the 
fact  that  the  two  fundamental  needs  are  the  knowledge  requi¬ 
site,  and  the  attitudes  appropriate,  to  a  complex  society  which 
we  must  make  tolerantly,  intelligently,  and  co-operatively  demo¬ 
cratic.  Briefly  put,  a  liberal  education  is  that  which  provides 
the  individual  with  his  share  (according  to  his  capacity  and 
natural  talents)  of  this  functional  knowledge,  and  above  all 
with  the  interests  and  attitudes — self-respect,  tolerance,  objec¬ 
tive  sympathy,  the  scientific  spirit,  and  co-operative,  progres¬ 
sive,  democratic  sentiments,  rationally  grounded  on  objective 
understanding — essential  to  good  citizenship.  Considered  from 
the  point  of  view  of  such  a  standard,  the  puny  and  perverted 
character  of  much  of  our  so-called  educational  effort  will  be 
patent,  at  least  to  one  passably  familiar  with  it  and  at  the  same 
time  able  to  look  at  it  in  a  perspective  detached  from  personal 
vested  interest. 

The  task  of  democracy,  the  task  of  making  the  Great  Society 
safe  for  humanity,  is  a  task  of  construction,  not  of  exhortation. 
An  acquisitive  society,  possibly,  can  get  along  on  advertising, 
wit,  and  oratory ;  a  productive  society  has  to  know  a  great  deal, 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


329 


and  to  work  intelligently  and  constructively  on  the  basis  of  its 
knowledge.  The  leadership  capable  of  developing  a  liberal  and 
functional  education  will  not  come  from  men  and  women  whose 
chief  equipment  is  comprised  in  a  timid  conservatism  and  con¬ 
ventional  sentiments.  It  can  be  expected  only  from  those 
whose  attitudes  are  founded  on  an  objective  knowledge  of  what 
the  Great  Society  means. 

It  is  idle  to  look  for  such  leadership  to  emerge  in  the  absence 
of  the  universities.  Here  we  are  compelled  to  differ  with 
Mr.  Slichter.  He  does  not  look  to  the  universities.  He  looks 
to  far-seeing,  public-spirited  business  men,  probably  also  to  the 
leaders  of  working  class  movements,  and  possibly  he  sees  hope 
in  the  workers’  education  movement.  There  are  those  of  much 
experience  in  “social  work”  who  hold  that  the  workers  must 
lift  themselves  by  their  own  boot-straps.  But  boots  and  boot¬ 
straps  have  gone  out.  Search  through  the  list  of  your  really 
public-spirited  business  men,  through  the  roster  of  leaders,  or 
at  least  of  teachers,  in  the  workers’  “colleges”  and  see  how 
many  of  them  have  come  through  the  universities.  Or  take  the 
experts,  the  accountants,  the  engineers,  the  economists,  who  are 
aiding  the  workers  to  find  themselves,  or  are  devoting  their 
energies  to  co-operative  social  research  and  constructive  work — 
they  trace  back  directly  or  indirectly  to  the  universities,  in 
respect  both  to  their  special  knowledge  and  to  their  attitudes. 
And  the  same  is  true  in  great  measure  of  the  educational  leaders 
at  large.  If  they  hold  the  key  to  the  future,  the  universities 
have  been  largely  intrumental  in  the  determination  of  which 
way  they  will  turn  it. 

Much  then  depends  on  the  universities.  Where  they  are 
remiss  or  ineffective,  the  results  are  much  worse  for  a  society 
like  ours  than  they  would  be  for  one  such  as  our  grandparents 
lived  in.  The  attitudes  of  the  general  populace  are  in  part 
derived  from,  or  at  least  are  influenced  by,  the  public  schools. 
The  attitudes,  the  mental  capacity,  and  the  functional  knowledge 
of  the  public  school  teachers,  in  turn,  are  greatly  influenced  by 
the  training  they  have  received  in  the  higher  educational  insti¬ 
tutions.  Hence  the  universities,  however  aloof  from  the  public 
school  system  they  may  appear  to  stand,  really  have  a  profound 
and  lasting  influence  upon  it.  The  universites  and  colleges 
constantly  complain  of  the  poor  training  given  to  the  boys  and 


330  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

girls  sent  on  from  the  public  schools.  The  schools,  with  equal 
force,  might  complain  of  the  equivocal  results  of  higher  educa¬ 
tion  on  the  men  and  women  sent  hack  to  them  as  teachers. 
There  is  here,  in  fact,  a  dual  difficulty,  another  vicious  circle. 
With  better  expenditure  of  more  money,  with  better  teaching, 
less  waste  of  time  in  conventional  subjects,  and  some  resistance 
to  narrow  commercialization  and  energy-scattering  fads  in  the 
public  schools,  the  colleges  and  universities  can  make  a  better 
showing  in  their  product,  because  they  will  have  better  prepared 
students  to  work  with.  On  the  other  hand,  the  reform  of  the 
public  school  curriculum,  saving  of  time  now  wasted,  and  the 
necessary  improvement  of  personnel  in  the  public  school  staffs, 
depend  upon  the  ability  of  the  colleges  and  normal  schools,  and 
ultimately  of  the  universities,  to  send  out  men  and  women  with 
the  needed  qualifications.  That  they  are  wholly  successful  in 
this  at  present  no  informed  person  will  assert. 

The  central  trouble  in  higher  education  (barring  lack  of 
funds)  lies  in  lack  of  functional  purpose  and  co-ordination. 
The  mid-nineteenth  century  college  was  very  sure  that  it  had 
a  purpose,  and  it  had  a  co-ordinated  curriculum  and  point-of- 
view  adapted  to  that  purpose.  But  the  purpose  was  not  large 
enough,  nor  the  curriculum  elastic  enough,  for  changing  social 
needs.  Then  the  elective  system  was  introduced,  later  modified 
by  certain  “requirements”  and  “group  systems.”  The  old  pur¬ 
pose  was  lost,  or  became  extremely  vague  and  diffuse.  Chairs 
were  multiplied  and  divided,  and  filled  with  specialists  inter¬ 
ested  in  subjects  (or  fractions  of  subjects)  quite  as  often  as 
by  men  with  interest  in  liberal  education  or  much  conception 
of  the  purpose  of  education.  With  but  slight  hyperbole  one 
may  say  that  from  the  standpoint  of  an  education  liberal  and 
functional  to  the  larger  moral  needs  and  outlook  of  the  Great 
Society,  our  universities  have  in  great  measure  ceased  to  be 
educational  institutions.  Magnificent  professional  schools,  yes; 
and  an  amazing  array  of  courses  open  to  undergraduates; 
libraries  bursting  their  walls ;  finely  equipped  laboratories ;  stu¬ 
dent  self-government  with  its  training  in  ward  politics;  inter¬ 
collegiate  athletics  as  an  advertising  factor;  and  a  flood  of 
young  men  and  women,  some  of  whom  become  students.  But  if 
an  occasional  student  gets  a  great  deal  that  can  rightly  be  called 
an  education  liberal  and  functional  to  the  needs  of  leadership 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


331 


in  the  Great  Society,  it  is  a  fortunate  accident.  For  the  general 
assumption  is  that  somehow  a  liberal  education  will  result  from 
four  years’  attendance  in  courses  chosen,  as  often  as  not,  because 
they  come  at  a  convenient  hour,  or  because  they  fulfill  certain 
“ group”  requirements  which  have  been  enacted  with  due  defer¬ 
ence  to  the  various  1 1  departments  of  knowledge,”  not  to  say 
departmental  vested  interests. 

The  great  influx  of  students  in  recent  years  into  the  colleges 
and  universities  is  a  healthy  sign,  in  spite  of  the  suspicion  that 
many  of  them  are  sent  because  it  is  “the  thing”  and  others 
come  attracted  by  the  prospect  of  a  good  time  socially  and 
possible  newspaper  fame  in  athletics.  The  size  of  student  bodies 
is  now  so  great,  however,  that  college  education  has  become  a 
mass  process ;  we  are  going  through  the  motions  as  best  we  may, 
and  the  results  will  be  deficient  until  more  funds  and  more  real 
teachers  are  provided.  But  even  the  motions  are  in  good  part 
not  functionally  purposed ;  where  there  is  a  purpose,  it  is  often 
some  inherited  academic  ideal  of  gentlemanly  culture  or  scholar¬ 
ship  for  its  own  sake — an  arid  ideal  in  this  day  and  age,  when 
we  have  such  need  of  scholarship  and  capacity  directed  to  real 
social  purposes.  A  “reading  knowledge  (?)  of  two  foreign 
languages”  and  “two  courses  in  English”  are  deemed  more 
basically  important  elements  in  a  “liberal”  education  than  any 
combination  of  psychology,  economics,  history,  and  government. 
To  be  sure,  the  great  swing  of  student  elections  in  the  choice  of 
subjects  is  toward  the  social  sciences,  but  that  does  not  mean 
necessarily  that  a  given  student  gets  much,  even  in  these  fields, 
of  functional  value.  College  catalogues  are  loaded  down  with 
specialized  and  semi-technical  courses  with  extremely  elastic 
prerequisites.  It  is  unusual  for  a  student  to  manage  to  get 
a  consistent  group  of  co-ordinated  social  science  courses  of  a 
type  to  give  him  insight  into  the  social  world  in  which  he  is  to 
live,  rather  than  a  disconnected  aggregate  of  courses  given 
because  of  the  special  interests  of  professors  and  instructors. 
There  is  no  guarantee  of  a  broad  educational  perspective  in 
the  social  science  departments.  There  are  few  universities  in 
the  country  whose  economics  departments  have  not  fallen  in 
some  degree  prey  to  the  craze  for  “business  administration” 
and  schools  of  “commerce.”  There  is  a  distinct  materialization 
and  cOJWXOeTcialization  in  process.  And  it  is  matched  in  the 


332  CONSERVATISM,  RADICALISM 

sociological  departments  by  the  trend  toward  “practical” 
courses  in  “social  service,”  without  always  requiring  the  essen¬ 
tial  background  of  general  orientive  study. 

These  may  seem  technical  professional  matters,  allusion  to 
which  should  find  no  place  in  a  book  of  this  kind.  It  is  not 
our  intention  to  conclude  this  chapter  with  an  educational  essay, 
but  if  the  colleges  and  universities  are  to  be  the  main  source  of 
leadership,  educational  and  otherwise,  suited  to  the  needs  of 
the  time,  problems  of  curriculum-content,  of  faculty  personnel, 
and  of  educational  attitude  and  outlook,  have  a  bearing  and 
significance  far  beyond  a  mere  professional  interest. 

There  is  fortunately  indication,  not  only  in  the  colleges  and 
universities,  but  in  the  public  schools,  that  lively  interest  is 
developing  in  the  problem  of  readapting  curricula  and  educa¬ 
tional  ideals  to  social  needs.  So  long,  however,  as  an  influential 
number  of  teachers  and  educators  regard  a  split  infinitive  as  a 
greater  offense  than  inability  to  take  an  objective  attitude,  or 
place  vocational  training  above  a  more  broadly  functional  social 
education,  no  very  rapid  progress  may  be  looked  for. 

Taking  the  educational  system  as  a  whole,  division  of  labor 
and  of  function  is,  of  course,  everywhere  necessary,  because  it 
is  necessary  in  all  social  and  economic  processes.  The  main 
attention  of  the  vast  bulk  of  the  population  must  be  directed  to 
making  a  living.  The  “requisiteness”  of  the  amount  of  knowl¬ 
edge  any  individual  is  to  have  is  therefore  a  relative  matter. 
Not  all  can  be  social  engineers  and  leaders.  Failure  to  sense 
this  fact  has  been  one  important  source  of  the  pitiful  short¬ 
comings  of  what  is  popularly  but  erroneously  regarded  as  democ¬ 
racy.  Moreover,  the  amount  of  knowledge  which  the  schools 
can  impart  is  limited.  What  the  public  schools  can  do — when 
they  secure  the  properly  qualified  teachers  and  reform  their 
curricula — is  to  encourage  the  needed  attitudes.  Their  task  in 
this  will  not  be  easy,  because  they  will  be  running  counter  to 
subtle  influence  elsewhere,  in  the  home,  for  instance,  and  to 
powerful  interests  in  business,  and  well-meaning  but  obstructive 
institutions.  And  apart  from  quasi-professional  and  technical 
knowledge,  the  development  of  social  intelligence ,  interests,  and 
attitudes  is  about  all  that  the  colleges  can  undertake. 

The  attitudinal  reform  requisite  to  the  efficiency  and  safety 
of  the  Great  Society  can  come  only  through  education,  educa- 


AND  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD 


333 


tion  adequately  supported  and  properly  directed.  Educational 
reform  must  come  first.  Always,  wherever  we  start,  we  come 
back  to  education.  The  eugenists  and  selectionists,  it  is  true, 
demur,  and  say  “yes,  we  need  education,  of  course,  but  it  is  of 
secondary  import ;  the  primary  task  is  to  secure  a  better  human 
stock.  ”  They  forget  that  in  the  absence  of  a  socially  educated 
populace  no  serious  eugenics  program  (even  granting  that  we 
are  in  position  to  propose  one  based  on  secure  scientific  conclu¬ 
sions)  has  much  chance  of  adoption. 

It  is  not  our  hope  that  the  undesirable  habits  and  sentiments 
of  conservatism,  radicalism,  and  popular-mindedness  can  be 
eliminated  over  night;  that  a  near  approach  to,  and  diffusion 
of,  the  scientific  attitude  is  soon  to  be  looked  for.  But  insofar 
as  we  secure  the  needed  attitudinal  modification  at  all,  it  will 
not  be  through  segregating  a  few  feeble-minded  or  exhorting 
the  well-to-do  to  have  larger  families.  It  will  come  through 
functional,  courageous,  progressive  education. 

When  history  placed  industrialism  and  political  democracy 
in  one  side  of  the  scales,  it  called  for  ethical  democracy,  objective 
sympathy,  social  knowledge,  and  the  scientific  spirit  in  the  other. 
It  is  the  function  of  the  teachers,  wherever  they  may  be  working, 
to  put  them  there. 

Is  it  possible  that  the  Great  Society  will  ever  come  to  an 
equilibrium  of  peace  and  productiveness  for  human  living,  if  the 
educators  fail  in  their  primary  function? 

They  have  the  tutelage,  the  guidance,  and  the  stimulation  of 
youth  in  their  hands.  The  way  out  of  the  present  situation — 
if  there  is  a  way  out — lies  in  the  youth  of  the  land  and  in  their 
attitudes,  their  points  of  view,  their  functional  knowledge,  their 
courage,  and  their  freedom  from  the  heavy  impediments  of 
precedent.  Well  may  we  say  to  them,  Ye  are  the  salt  of  the 
earth,  the  light  of  the  world !  But  we  owe  it  to  them  to  provide 
an  education  which  will  not  dim  the  light;  which  will  not  rob 
the  salt  of  its  savor. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


The  following  books  and  articles  have  in  one  way  or  another 
been  helpfully  suggestive  in  connection  with  the  matters  consid¬ 
ered  in  this  volume.  No  attempt,  of  course,  can  be  made  at 
anything  like  a  full  bibliography.  The  list  of  books  bearing  on 
conservatism  and  radicalism  alone  would  be  endless,  although 
curiously  enough,  with  the  exception  of  the  writings  of  Professor 
Veblen,  especially  his  “ Theory  of  the  Leisure  Class,”  there 
seems  to  have  been  no  direct  and  serious  attempt,  in  English  at 
least,  to  work  out  a  consistent  theory  of  the  nature  and  causes 
of  conservatism  and  radicalism.  So  far  as  concerns  individual¬ 
ism  and  democracy,  the  greater  part  of  what  has  been  written  is 
beside  the  point,  if  judged  from  the  viewpoint  of  the  present 
book;  for  we  are  concerned  with  individualism  and  democracy 
less  as  theories  of  social  means  than  as  theories  of  ends.  On  the 
scientific  method,  especially  in  its  application  in  the  so-called 
social  sciences,  there  is  a  growing  literature  in  English,  but  it 
is  mostly  buried  in  the  philosophical  journals.  The  French  and 
Germans  have  an  extensive  literature  on  scientific  method,  but 
we  have  deemed  it  best  to  confine  the  references,  with  one  or 
two  exceptions,  to  English  and  American  books. 

Only  a  rough  attempt  is  made  to  classify  the  references. 
Many  of  them  bear  on  matters  appropriate  to  groups  other  than 
those  under  which  they  are  placed. 

I.  CONSERVATISM  AND  RADICALISM 
Albert,  A.  D. — “The  Tents  of  the  Conservative,”  Scribner's  Magazine , 
July,  1922. 

Anderson,  Maxwell — “Modern  Casuists,”  The  Freeman,  August  25, 
1920. 

Bagehot,  Walter — Physics  and  Politics,  1873. 

Beard,  C.  A. — The  Economic  Interpretation  of  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States,  1913. 

Bryce,  James — Modern  Democracies,  2  vols.,  1921. 

Chapman,  J.  J. — Practical  Agitation,  1900. 

Dunlap,  K.— Mysticism,  Freudianism,  and  Scientific  Psychology,  1920. 
Edman,  Irwin— Human  Traits  and  Their  Social  Significance,  1920. 

335 


336  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Ellis,  H. — The  Philosophy  of  Conflict  and  Other  Essays  in  Wartime, 

1919,  Ch.  6. 

Emerson,  R.  W. — Nature,  Addresses,  and  Lectures  (Works,  Vol.  I),  the 
essay  on  “The  Conservative,”  1841. 

Frink,  H.  W. — Morbid  Fears  and  Compulsions,  1918. 

Hunter,  Robert — Violence  and  the  Labor  Movement,  1914. 

Interchurch  World  Movement — Report  on  the  Steel  Strike  of  1919, 

1920.  Public  Opinion  and  the  Steel  Strike,  1921. 

Kellar,  A.  G. — Social  Evolution,  1915. 

Kropotkin,  P. — Mutual  Aid  a  Factor  of  Evolution,  1902. 

Lapouge,  G.  V. — Les  Selections  Sociales,  1896. 

Leopold,  Lewis — Prestige,  A  Psychological  Study  of  Social  Estimates, 
1913. 

Lewis,  Sinclair — Main  Street,  1920.  Babbitt,  1922. 

Mill,  J.  S. — Dissertations  and  Discussions,  1859  (the  essays  on  Bentham 
and  Coleridge). 

Nearing,  Scott — “Who’s  Who  on  Our  Boards  of  Education,”  School  and 
Society,  January  20,  1917. 

New  York,  Joint  Legislative  Committee  of  the  State  of  New  York 
Investigating  Seditious  Activities — Revolutionary  Radicalism,  Its 
History,  Purpose  and  Tactics,  With  an  Exposition  and  Discussion  of 
the  Steps  Being  Taken  to  Curb  It.  4  vols.,  1920.  (The  Lusk  Com¬ 
mittee  Report.) 

Parker,  C.  H. — The  Casual  Laborer  and  Other  Essays,  1920. 

Paton,  S. — “The  Psychology  of  the  Radical,”  Yale  Review,  October,  1921. 

Paul,  Kegan — William  Godwin,  His  Friends  and  Acquaintances,  2  vols., 
1876. 

Pujo  Committee  Report,  1913  (Committee  Appointed  Pursuant  to  House 
Resolutions  429  and  504  to  Investigate  the  Concentration  of  the 
Control  of  Money  and  Credit). 

Robinson,  J.  H. — The  New  History,  1912,  Ch.  8.  The  Mind  in  the  Mak¬ 
ing,  1921. 

Ross,  E.  A. — Social  Control,  1904.  Sin  and  Society,  1907.  Social  Psy¬ 
chology,  1908.  Principles  of  Sociology,  1920. 

Shapiro,  J.  S. — “The  Revolutionary  Intellectual,”  Atlantic  Monthly , 
June,  1920. 

Schroeder,  T. — “Conservatisms,  Liberalisms,  and  Radicalisms,”  Psycho¬ 
analytical  Review,  1920,  pp.  376-384. 

Smith,  J.  H. — The  Spirit  of  American  Government,  1907. 

Stephen,  Leslie — The  English  Utilitarians,  3  vols.,  1900. 

Taylor,  L.  A. — Revolutionary  Types,  1904. 

Thorndike,  E.  L. — The  Original  Nature  of  Man  (Educational  Psychol¬ 
ogy,  Vol.  I),  1913. 

Trotter,  W. — The  Instincts  of  the  Herd  in  Peace  and  War,  1916. 

Veblen,  T. — The  Theory  of  the  Leisure  Class,  1899.  The  Theory  of  Busi¬ 
ness  Enterprise,  1904.  Imperial  Germany  and  the  Industrial  Revolu¬ 
tion,  1915.  The  Vested  Interests,  1919. 

Warren,  H.  C. — Elements  of  Human  Psychology,  1922. 

Watson,  J.  B. — Psychology  from  the  Standpoint  of  a  Behaviorist,  1919. 

Wells,  H.  G. — Discovery  of  the  Future,  1913.  The  Outline  of  History, 
3d  edition  revised,  1921. 

Weyl,  Walter — Tired  Radicals  and  Other  Essays,  1921,  Ch.  1. 

Williams,  J.  M. — Principles  of  Social  Psychology,  as  Developed  in  a 
Study  of  Economic  and  Social  Conflict,  1922. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  337 

Woodworth,  R.  S. — Dynamic  Psychology,  1918.  Psychology,  A  Study  of 
Mental  Life,  1921. 

Yarros,  V.  F. — “Induction  and  Radical  Psychology,”  Psychological  Re¬ 
view,  May,  1922. 

On  the  conflict  between  youth  and  age,  see — 

Bell,  B.  I. — “The  Church  and  the  Civilian  Young  Man,”  Atlantic 
Monthly,  September,  1919. 

Briarly,  Mary — “The  Man,  the  Woman,  and  the  University,”  Scribner's 
Magazine,  November,  1922. 

Butler,  Samuel — The  Way  of  All  Flesh,  1903. 

Ellis,  H. — The  Task  of  Social  Hygiene,  1912,  the  chapter  on  “Religion 
and  the  Child.” 

Lasker,  B. — “The  Youth  Movement,”  Survey,  December  31,  1921. 

Parsons,  E.  C. — Social  Rule,  a  Study  of  the  Will  to  Power,  1916.  Social 
Freedom,  a  Study  of  the  Conflicts  Between  Social  Classifications  and 
Personality,  1915. 

Shaw,  B. — Misalliance,  1914  (the  Preface,  on  “Parents  and  Children”). 

Stevenson,  R.  L. — Virginibus  Puerisque  (the  chapter  on  “Crabbed  Age 
and  Youth”). 

Turgueniev,  Ivan — Fathers  and  Sons,  1862. 

See  also  the  series  of  articles,  by  various  writers,  in  the  Atlantic 
Monthly,  1920,  cited  in  note,  page  58,  of  this  volume. 

On  censorship,  etc.,  see — 

American  Association  of  University  Professors,  Bulletins. 

Bleyer,  S.  H. — The  Profession  of  Journalism,  1918. 

Ciiafee,  Z. — Freedom  of  Speech,  1920. 

Cushman,  R.  E. — “National  Police  Power  Under  the  Postal  Clause  of 
the  Constitution,”  Minnesota  Law  Revieiv,  March  and  May,  1920. 

Lippmann,  W. — Liberty  and  the  News,  1920.  Public  Opinion,  1922. 

Schroeder,  T. — Free  Speech  Bibliography,  1922. 

Sinclair,  U. — The  Brass  Check,  1920. 

Veblen,  T. — The  Higher  Learning  in  America,  191S. 

White,  A.  D. — History  of  the  Warfare  Between  Science  and  Theology, 
2  vols.,  1896.  Autobiography,  1905,  Vol.  I,  Ch.  24., 

On  the  ductless  glands  in  relation  to  temperament,  see — 

Bandler,  S.  W. — The  Endocrines,  1921. 

Berman,  L. — Thei  Glands  Regulating  Personality,  1922. 

Cannon,  W.  B. — Bodily  Changes  in  Pain,  Hunger,  Fear  and  Rage,  1920. 

Harrow,  B. — Glands  in  Health  and  Disease,  1922. 

Kempf,  E.  J. — Psychopathology,  1920. 

II.  SCIENTIFIC  METHOD  AND  SCIENTIFIC  ATTITUDE 

Bernard,  L.  L. — “The  Function  of  Generalization,”  Monist,  October, 
1920. 

Cooley,  W.  H. — The  Principles  of  Science,  1912. 

Curtis,  W.  C. — Science  and  Human  Affairs,  from  the  Viewpoint  of 
Biology,  1922. 

Creighton,  J.  E. — An  Introductory  Logic,  4th  edition,  1920,,  Part  II. 

Fiske,  John — Outlines  of  Cosmic  Philosophy,  1874,  Vol.  I,  Part  I,  Clis. 
1,  3,  5,  6,  Vol.  II,  Part  II,  Ch.  17. 

Giddings,  F.  II. — “A  Provisional  Distribution  of  the  Population  of  the 
United  States  Into  Psychological  Classes,”  Psychological  Review, 
July,  1901. 

Haldane,  J.  S. — Mechanism,  Life,  and  Personalitv,  2d  edition,  1921. 


338  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Jevons,  W.  S. — The  Principles  of  Science.  A  Treatise  on  Logic  and 
Scientific!  Method,  2  vols.,  1874. 

Lilly,  W. — An  Introduction  to  the  History  of  Science,  1917. 

Mill,  J.  S. — A  System  of  Logic,  2  vols.,  1862. 

Pareto,  V. — Traite  de  Sociologie  Generale,  2  vols.,  1917,  especially  Vol.  I, 
Ch.  1. 

Pearson,  K. — A  Grammar  of  Science,  2d  edition,  1900. 

Russell,  B. — The  Problems;  of  Philosophy  (Home  University  Library), 
Chs.  4-7,  12-14.  Scientific  Method  in  Philosophy,  1913.  Mysticism 
and  Logic,  1918,  Chs.  2,  6,  9. 

Thomas,  W.  I.,  and  Znaniecki,  F. — The  Polish  Peasant  in  Europe  and 
America,  Vol.  I  (Methodological  Note,  pp.  1-66),  1918. 

III.  INDIVIDUALISM  AND  DEMOCRACY 

Carver,  T.  N. — The  Religion  Worth  Having,  1912. 

Clapperton,  J.  H. — Scientific  Meliorism,  1885,  Ch.  24. 

Cooley,  C.  H. — Social  Organization,  1909.  Social  Process,  1918. 

Dewey,  John — Reconstruction  in  Philosophy,  1920.  Human  Nature  and 
Conduct,  An  Introduction  to  Social  Psychology,  1922. 

Dewey,  John,  and  Others — Creative  Intelligence,  1917. 

Dickinson,  Z.  C. — Economic  Motives,  A  Study  in  the  Psychological 
Foundations  of  Economic  Theory,  1922. 

Durant,  Will — Philosophy  and  the  Social  Problem,  1917. 

Ellwood,  C.  A. — The  Reconstruction  of  Religion,  a  Sociological  View, 
1922. 

Fite,  W. — Individualism :  Four  Lectures  on  the  Significance  of  Con¬ 
sciousness  for  Social  Relations,  1911. 

Follett,  M.  P. — The  New  State,  1920. 

Hobson,  J.  A. — Problems  of  a  New  World,  1921. 

Lumley,  F.  E. — Slogans  as  a  Means  of  Social  Control,  Publications 
of  the  American  Sociological  Society ,  Vol.  XVI,  1922. 

Oppenheimer,  F. — The  State,  1914,  Ch.  6. 

Paulsen,  F. — A  System  of  Ethics,  1899,  Book  III,  Ch.  1,  on  “Veracity.” 

Tawney,  R.  H. — The  Acquisitive  Society,  1921. 

Veblen,  T. — The  Instinct  of  Workmanship  and  the  State  of  the  Indus¬ 
trial  Arts,  1914.  The  Engineers  and,  the  Price  System,  1921. 

Wallas,  G. — The  Great  Society,  1914.  Our  Social  Inheritance,  1921. 

Ward,  L.  F. — Outlines  of  Sociology,  1899,  Ch.  12.  Pure  Sociology,  2d 
edition,  1907,  Ch.  20. 

Wilson,  W. — The  New  Freedom,  1913. 

Wolfe,  A.  B. — “Some  Psychological  Aspects  of  Industrial  Reconstruc¬ 
tion,”  Publications  of  the  American  Sociological  Society ,  Vol.  XIV. 
1919. 


INDEX 


Absentee  ownership,  143,  280. 

Absolutism,  ecclesiastical,  165, 
305,  313 ;  metaphysical,  214,  304, 
305. 

Academic  freedom,  interference 
with,  92,  93,  184,  324-326.  See 
also  teaching,  censorship  of. 

Accounting,  246. 

Acquiescence,  146. 

Asquisitiveness,  262,  263,  270-272, 
281,  299-301,  313. 

Adams,  John  Couch,  207. 

Adaptation,  23,  42,  43,  78,  79,  81, 
141 ;  ontogenetic,  43,  44,  46,  47, 

140,  142-144,  249,  309;  phyloge¬ 
netic,  43,  142. 

Addams,  Jane,  184. 

Adrenal  glands,  144,  145. 

Advertisers,  power  of,  94. 

Advertising,  197,  326;  in  relation 
to  standard  of  living,  149. 

Age,  conservatism  of,  56-59;  pres¬ 
tige  of,  56,  57,  105. 

Agents  provocateurs,  91. 

Aggressiveness,  146. 

Agitators,  112,  114,  137,  176. 

Agricultural  bloc,  135. 

Alexandrine  Empire,  310. 

Allen,  A.  N.,  58. 

Altruism,  256,  257,  259,  307,  308. 

Ambition,  72,  73,  114,  133,  138,  149, 
187 ;  parental,  57. 

American  Association  for  Labor 
Legislation,  114. 

American  Association  of  Univer¬ 
sity  Professors,  93. 

American  Bar  Association,  73. 

American  Economic  Association, 
321. 

American  Federation  of  Labor, 

141,  192. 

American  Legion,  187. 

American  Public  Health  Associa¬ 
tion,  114. 


Americanism,  101,  114,  115,  286. 
Americanization,  101,  324. 
Amusement,  disguised  propaganda 
in,  286. 

Analogy,  203,  207,  208,  214,  248, 

249,  253. 

Analysis,  204,  205,  207,  209,  211- 
213,  215,  216,  218,  243. 
Anarchism,  15,  102,  114,  130,  155, 
168,  271. 

Anarchy,  80,  150,  304,  315. 

Ancestor  worship,  171. 

Anderson,  Maxwell,  76. 

Anger,  121-123,  128,  135,  152,  153, 
170,  172,  173,  175,  176,  180,  186, 
187,  189,  216,  288. 

Animism,  306. 

Anthropological  parallels,  214. 
Anthropology,  176,  213,  214. 
Anthropomorphism,  234. 
Anti-intellectualism,  314. 
Apprenticeship,  65. 

Approximation,  method  of,  248. 
Aptitudes,  23,  24,  27,  44. 
Aristocracy,  139,  143,  268,  269, 
272. 

Arizona,  191. 

Armament  manufacturers,  101. 
Association,  255. 

Associative  emotionalism,  16. 
Astronomy,  213. 

Attachment,  157,  183.,  189,  201, 
231,  232.  See  also  Egotism, 
Habituation. 

Attention,  122,  123,  128,  130,  220, 
221,  255 ;  scientific,  222,  224, 

250. 

Attitudes,  2,  3,  10,  47,  202,  294, 
300,  303,  311,  320,  329,  332;  de¬ 
fined,  9,  201 ;  distinction  be¬ 
tween  generalized  and  special¬ 
ized,  6 ;  scale  of,  11,  12,  17,  18. 
Authoritarianism,  35,  49,  148,  209, 
285,  305. 


339 


340 


INDEX 


Authority,  respect  for,  228,  229. 
See  also  Authoritarianism. 

Autonomic  nervous  system,  145. 

Avoidance,  122,  146,  182,  184,  228, 
277. 

Bacon,  Francis,  321. 

Bagehot,  Walter,  11,  141. 

Bakounin,  Michael,  188,  191. 

Balked  desire,  120-123,  126-133, 

136,  138,  139,  143-145,  150,  152, 

153,  163,  170,  173-175,  178,  180, 

185,  186,  189,  233,  272,  279,  318, 

322. 

Balked  disposition,  37,  120,  121. 
See  also  Balked  desire. 

Balked  interest.  See  Balked  de¬ 
sire. 

Bandler,  S.  W.,  145,  218. 

Banks,  86,  87,  165,  194,  197. 

Beard,  Charles  A.,  106,  157. 

Behavior,  217-219,  255. 

Behavior-pattern,  9,  45. 

Behaviorism,  45,  124,  171,  173, 
217-219,  236,  242,  253,  305-307, 
315,  318,  319. 

Bell;  Bernard  Iddings,  53. 

Bell,  Graham,  18. 

Benn,  A.  W.,  4. 

Bentham,  292. 

Berman,  L.,  145. 

Bernard,  L.  L.,  251. 

Big  business,  70,  71,  85,  86. 

Bio-chemistry,  213. 

Biological  analogy,  140. 

Biological  origin  of  conservatism, 
23,  42-46. 

Biology,  208,  213,  214. 

Birth  control,  152,  171,  268. 

Birth  registration,  244. 

Blacklist,  85. 

Blame,  121,  122,  128,  135,  152, 
153,  170-178,  180,  187,  190,  198, 
202,  209,  219,  231,  236,  251,  282, 
293,  305,  317 ;  ethics  of,  287,  288. 

Bleyer,  W.  G.,  96. 

Bolshevism,  16,  17,  90,  91,  114, 
225. 

Bonar,  James,  182. 

Boosting,  109. 

Boycott,  85,  191 ;  Chinese,  193. 

Brailsford,  H.  N.,  101. 

Brain-patterns,  45. 


Briarly,  Mary,  58. 

Bribery,  96. 

Brissenden,  Paul  F.,  188. 

British  Labor  Party,  196. 

Bryce,  James,  14. 

Buridan’s  ass,  179,  319. 

Burkholder,  A.  C.,  87. 

Business  control  of  government, 
106,  107. 

Business  enterprise,  171. 

Business  ethics,  69. 

Business  inefficiency,  225. 

Business  men,  conservatism  of, 
69,  social  leadership  among, 
321,  322. 

Butler,  Samuel,  58. 

Byron,  137. 

Cabot  Fund  for  Industrial  Re¬ 
search,  91. 

Cannon,  W.  B.,  145,  218. 

Capital,  208,  209. 

Capitalism,  156,  171,  269,  298. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  152. 

Carter,  J.  F.,  Jr.,  58. 

Cartoons,  114,  176,  199. 

Catchwords,  101.  See  also  Clap¬ 
trap,  Slogans. 

Catharsis,  318. 

Catholic  Church,  162,  225. 

Cattlemen,  135. 

Causation,  180,  205,  208-211,  219, 
235,  318. 

Cause,  208-210,  216-219;  final,  209. 

Caveat  emptor,  119. 

Censor,  123,  124,  126. 

Censorship,  83,  90-96,  184,  B13,  324- 
326 ;  ethics  of,  283-286 ;  of  teach¬ 
ing,  91-93;  of  the  press,  93-96. 
See  also  Press,  censorship  of. 

Chafee,  Zechariah,  90. 

Chance,  216.  See  also  Whim. 

Charlatanism,  229. 

Chicane,  83,  96,  97,  100,  102,  110, 
U3,  115,  116,  183,  198,  200,  203, 
243,  283,  284,  286,  302,  318. 

Child  labor  legislation,  107,  109. 

Child  welfare,  147. 

China,  4,  142,  171,  191,  193. 

Christian  ethics,  281,  28§,  307-309, 
312,  313. 

Christian  morals,  305.  See  also 
Christian  ethics. 


INDEX  341 


Christians,  early,  161. 

Church  Influence,  48,  49,  52,  53, 
129,  301. 

Citizenship,  Prussian  ideal  of, 
166;  training  for,  52,  81,  101, 
324. 

Civics,  53. 

Civil  liberty,  91,  297. 

Claptrap,  83,  100-116,  118,  198,  283, 
318 ;  business,  105-115 ;  legalistic, 
102;  nationalistic,  103,  115;  po¬ 
litical,  104,  105 ;  types  of,  102. 

Clark,  John  B.,  249. 

Clarke,  William,  14. 

Class,  52,  55,  143,  148. 

Class  conflict,  2,  16,  71,  72,  82,  172, 
173,  180,  263,  297,  302.  See  also 
Class  struggle. 

Class  consciousness,  72,  166,  190, 
252. 

Class  interest,  6,  61,  97,  118,  172, 
173,  296. 

Class  solidarity,  72,  135,.  162,  181, 
190,  271. 

Class  struggle,  158,  166,  214,  290. 
See  also  Class  conflict. 

Classes,  incidence  of  social  chance 
upon,  143,  144. 

Classical  political  economy,  249. 

Classification,  174,  204,  205,  208, 
216,  238,  244-246. 

Clayton  Anti-trust  Act,  116. 

Clergymen,  conservatism  of,  74-76. 

Clericalism,  28,  166. 

Climate,  140. 

Clinical  laboratories,  169. 

Closed  shop,  65,  66. 

Coal  strike  of  1919,  192. 

Cobdenism,  16. 

Collective  bargaining,  66,  84,  85, 
111,  113,  192,  302. 

Collective  telesis,  304. 

Collectivism,  16. 

College  students,  mental  traits  of, 
33,  35,  79. 

Colleges,  denominational,  75,  184, 
285;  trade  union,  184,  195. 

Combativeness,  122,  296,  299,  310, 
311.  See  also  Pugnacity. 

Committee  of  Forty-eight,  193. 

Commons,  John  Ii.,  J.56. 

Commune,  189. 

Communism,  16,  114,  266,  268. 


Comparative  poverty,  doctrine  of, 
149,  239. 

Compensation,  127,  231. 

Complex,  125,  253. 

Compromise,  76,  77,  193,  202,  283. 

Concept,  205,  208. 

Concerted  volition,  5,  155,  313. 

Conduct,  result  of  strongest  mo¬ 
tive,  257. 

Conflict,  5,  11,  16,  172-174,  180,  310 ; 
between  youth  and  age,  57-59. 

Conflict  complex.  See  Conflict 
psychology. 

Conflict  psychology,  172,  180,  234, 
251,  288-290,  300,  309;  intensi¬ 
fied  by  certain  religious  atti¬ 
tudes,  305. 

Conformity,  77. 

Consciousness,  a  form  of  behavior, 
254 ;  correlated  with  nervous 
system,  260;  in  relation  to  pur¬ 
pose,  255,  256 ;  in  relation  to 
thinking,  255 ;  social,  253. 

Conservation,  147. 

Conservatism,  biological  origin  of, 
23,  42-46;  casuistic,  76-78;  char¬ 
acteristic,  24 ;  defined,  12 ;  disin¬ 
terested,  21-60  (see  also  Disin¬ 
terested  conservatism)  ;  emula¬ 
tive,  62;  interested,  61-118  (see 
also  Interested  conservatism)  ; 
lackadaisical,  31 ;  methods  of, 
(see  Disinterested  conservatism, 
Interested  conservatism) ;  moti¬ 
vation  of  (see  Disinterested  con¬ 
servatism,  Interested  conserva¬ 
tism)  ;  of  age,  56-59;  protective, 
24 ;  symbolical,  127 ;  tempera¬ 
mental,  24 ;  vested-interest,  62, 
65-73. 

Conspiracy  of  silence,  1S4. 

Constabularies,  84. 

Constitution,  the  Federal,  41,  90, 
104-106,  190. 

Constitutional  mythology,  104,  105. 

Constitutional  rights,  invasion  of, 
90,  188,  298. 

Constructive  imagination,  conser¬ 
vative  lack  of,  38;  element  in 
scientific  method,  207,  219,  227, 
(see  also  Imagination,  scien¬ 
tific)  ;  radical’s  deficiency  in, 
158. 


342 


INDEX 


Control,  based  on  scientific  knowl¬ 
edge,  211,  212. 

Convention,  62,  80,  88,  133. 

Cooley,  C.  H.,  26,  46,  149,  163. 
Cooley,  W.  F.,  208,  234. 
Cooperative  research,  224,  250,  251. 
Corruption,  117,  199. 

Cost  of  production,  108. 

Courage,  6,  163,  320,  321,  333;  sci¬ 
entific,  222,  228. 

Court  decisions  in  labor  cases,  192. 
Cousin,  Victor,  226. 

Creative  intelligence,  202,  304. 
Credit,  86,  87,  231,  296. 

Credulity,  93,  98,  222,  225,  226. 
Creighton,  J.  E.,  208. 

Criminal  syndicalism  statutes,  90. 
Crises,  historical,  4. 

Critical  faculty,  49,  54,  97,  115, 

150,  165,  219,  222,  226,  227,  233. 
Critically  intellectual  mind,  175, 

176,  178-180,  233;  in  relation  to 
leadership,  316-320. 

Criticism,  34-36,  39,  60,  100,  219, 
220,  223,  226,  227,  229;  conser¬ 
vative  aversion  to,  183,  184 ;  re¬ 
striction  of,  183,  184. 

Cross  fertilization  of  ideas,  40,  41. 
Crowd  psychology,  108. 

Curiosity,  122,  132,  133,  141,  146, 

151,  220-224,  309,  316. 

Custom,  62,  238;  shell  of,  11,  13, 

62,  142. 

Cuvier,  204. 

Cynicism,  178,  179. 

Dallas  Open  Shop  Association, 

112. 

Dante,  137. 

Darwin,  Charles,  42,  209. 

Dawson,  W.  H.,  89. 

Davenport,  C.  B.,  265. 

Day  dreams,  153,  258. 

Death  rate,  244. 

Deduction,  206,  213,  245,  249. 
Defection  of  radical  leaders,  96. 
Definition,  208,  209,  238,  245. 
Democracy,  28,  40,  70,  101,  116, 
148,  149,  185,  221,  230,  231,  263- 
275,  277,  279,  282,  283,  303,  311, 
312 ;  as  equity  of  opportunity, 
266,  267 ;  dead  level  theory  of, 
265,  266,  273;  need  of  criticism 


in  a,  226;  political,  264,  271,  298, 
302;  relation  to  radicalism,  263; 
vested-interest  opposition  to,  88, 
89. 

Demography,  209. 

Demonstrations,  196. 

Dennison,  Henry  S.,  111. 

Denominational  colleges,  conserva¬ 
tism  of,  75,  184,  285. 

Deportation  of  radicals,  91,  176, 
188. 

Desire,  balked  (see  Balked  de¬ 
sire)  ;  for  distinction,  54,  55, 
309 ;  for  recognition,  54,  55,  309 ; 
nature  of,  120 ;  sources  of  ob¬ 
struction  to,  152-155,  180;  sub¬ 
ordination  to  reason,  222,  223. 

Detectives,  187. 

Determinism,  125,  173,  216,  219, 
223,  236,  257,  306,  318,  319. 

Dewey,  John,  50,  198,  208,  306,  314. 

Diagnosis,  169,  170. 

Dickinson,  Z.  C.,  8,  29. 

Dictatorship  of  the  proletariat, 
168. 

Dilettantism,  127,  130. 

Diminishing  utility,  215. 

Diplomacy,  173,  183;  “oil,”  297; 
secret,  59,  115,  298. 

Direct  action,  90,  188-190,  192. 

Direct  election  of  senators,  89. 

Direct  primary,  89. 

Disarmament,  70;  Conference,  298. 

Discussion,  96 ;  appeal  to  preju¬ 
dice  in,  100 ;  personal-interest 
bias  in,  100,  restriction  upon,  60, 
99,  100,  183,  184,  285  (see  also 
Censorship.) 

Disillusion,  296. 

Disinterested  Conservatism,  21- 
60;  a  matter  of  sentiment,  22,  a 
product  of  adjustment,  23,  24 ; 
a  safety-first  attitude,  21;  char¬ 
acteristics  of,  31-42,  290;  ethics 
of,  277-279 ;  methods  of,  60,  181- 
184;  motivation  of,  21-31; 
sources  of,  42-59  (see  also  Bio¬ 
logical  origins  of  conservatism)  ; 
weakness  of,  290,  291. 

Disloyalty,  114,  116. 

Disorder,  radical’s  sense  of,  164. 

Displacement,  126.  See  also  Sub¬ 
stitution,  Sublimation. 


INDEX 


343 


Dogmatic-emotional  mind,  175- 
178,  181,  226,  229,  316,  319. 

Dogmatism,  160,  165,  226,  227,  229, 
306. 

Douglas,  Paul  H.,  146. 

Drainage,  126.  See  also  Substitu¬ 
tion,  Sublimation. 

Dream  symbolization,  258. 

Due  process  of  law,  103. 

Dunlap,  Knight,  124. 

Durant,  Will,  251. 

Duty,  263;  belongs  to  category  of 
means,  256,  257,  307. 

East  Africa,  191. 

Economic  disorganization,  296,  297. 

Economic  harmonies,  270. 

Economic  man,  214. 

Economic  motive,  214. 

Economic  pressure,  83-88,  91,  135, 
143,  144,  191,  192 ;  ethics  of,  283, 
284,  through  control  of  patron¬ 
age  and  credit,  86,  87 ;  through 
hiring  and  firing,  84,  85 ;  in  re¬ 
lation  to  feminine  character,  88; 
in  rural  communities,  87 ;  in  the 
professions,  87,  88. 

Economics,  213,  214,  234 ;  courses 
in,  113,  331 ;  interested  in  func¬ 
tion,  208 ;  organized  research  in, 
250;  teaching  of,  321,  331. 

Economistes,  270. 

Edison,  Thomas  A.,  18. 

Education,  46,  174,  180,  203,  274, 
303,  304,  312,  316;  conservative 
influence  of,  49,  50 ;  deficiency 
of,  in  functional  purpose,  225, 
330-333 ;  financial  support  of, 
326-328;  leadership  in,  323,  328- 
333;  liberal,  151,  322-338;  relig¬ 
ious,  52,  53;  stimulus  to  unrest, 
148,  149 ;  vested-interest  control 
in,  184. 

Educational  administration,  vest¬ 
ed-interest  influence  in,  92,  93. 

Egotism,  28,  37,  55,  138,  222,  234, 
258,  262;  of  the  popular  mind, 
230,  231. 

Eighteenth  Amendment,  17,  28, 
155. 

Einstein,  211. 

Elders,  conservative  influence  of, 
in  public  affairs,  59.  See  also 


Age,  conservation  of. 
conservation  of. 

Elective  system,  330. 

Ellis,  Havelock,  49,  184. 

Ellwood,  C.  A.,  301,  308. 

Emotion,  7,  47,  144,  175;  defined, 

8. 

Emotional  tone,  8,  144. 

Emotionalism,  associative,  16. 

Empiricism,  219. 

Employers’  associations,  197. 

Emulation,  55,  56,  62,  66,  72,  73, 
132,  133,  149,  214,  281,  282. 

Emulative  conservatism,  62. 

Encyclopaedists,  270. 

Ends,  252-256,  260 ;  conflict  of,  252 ; 
in  biological  sense,  256. 

Energism,  257. 

Engels,  Friederick,  176. 

Engineers,  social  function  of,  133, 
173,  321,  322. 

England,  89,  101,  111,  193,  286. 

Environment,  changeableness  of, 
140-144 ;  influence  of,  46,  47,  139- 
143,  265,  269,  273-275. 

Equality,  before  the  law,  103;  of 
opportunity.  (See  Opportunity). 

Equity  of  opportunity.  See  Oppor¬ 
tunity. 

Espionage,  83,  84,  90,  91,  194;  eth¬ 
ics  of,  283-286 ;  private,  91. 

Espionage  acts,  90. 

Ethical  norms,  danger  of,  in  sci¬ 
entific  research,  237-239. 

Ethical  training,  53. 

Ethics,  213;  as  taste,  305,  306; 
based  on  behavioristic  psychol¬ 
ogy,  253;  a  calculus  of  means 
and  ends,  253 ;  Christian,  281, 
283,  307 ;  master-and-servant 

(see  Master-and-servant  eth¬ 
ics)  objective,  283,  305,  308; 
sex,  53,  184;  synonymous  with 
economy,  266. 

Eugenics,  249,  333. 

Eugenists,  153,  177,  333. 

Evidence,  202,  220,  242,  243. 

Evolution,  42-46,  139,  140,  209,  299, 
300,  309;  teaching  of,  92,  184, 
325. 

Exact  sciences,  213,  215. 

Excess  profits  tax,  116. 

Expansibility  of  human  wants,  147s 


344 


INDEX 


Experience,  206,  211,  212,  233,  235, 
254,  255,  257,  258,  261,  304 ;  dread 
of,  150,  151 ;  expansion  of,  145- 
150;  vicarious,  259,  262. 

Experiment,  207. 

Exploitation,  102,  103,  117,  135, 
148,  153,  158,  171,  189,  270,  299, 
302. 

Factual  data,  206,  207,  209,  214, 
242-244. 

Fairchild,  H.  P.,  146. 

Faith,  radical’s,  166;  scientific  (see 
Scientific  faith). 

Fallacy,  of  familiarity,  232,  233; 
ost  hoc  propter  hoc ,  210. 

Family,  128,  204 ;  conservative  in¬ 
fluence  of  the.  48,  49,  51,  57 ;  not 
an  end,  260,  261;  training,  48, 
49,  51. 

Fancy,  222,  22S. 

Farm  tenants,  87,  107. 

Farmers,  68,  106,  135,  190. 

Fascisti,  297. 

Fashions,  214. 

Fear,  13,  19,  21,  24-26,  27,  29,  32, 
36,  38,  39,  41,  61,  63,  64,  66,  68, 
70,  71,  122,  123,  128,  129,  133, 
146,  150-154,  162,  175,  176,  186, 
202,  212,  222,  228,  230,  257,  282, 
290,  300,  309,  314,  315,  322;  a 
main  element  in  conservatism, 
21,  24-31 ;  ethics  of,  277-279,  291, 
292 ;  in  relation  to  radicalism, 
165,  166;  of  living,  150,  151;  of 
social  disapprobation,  29 ;  of  the 
familiar,  28,  29 ;  of  the  unknown 
and  unfamiliar,  27,  28,  232. 

Fecundity,  214.  See  also  Birth 
control. 

Federal  Trade  Commission  Act, 
116. 

Federated  American  Engineering 
Societies,  147,  225. 

Federated  Press,  176,  196,  199. 

Feeblemindedness,  266. 

Feeling,  7. 

Feelings,  the,  7,  8. 

Ferrer,  Francisco,  138. 

First  Amendment,  90. 

Fiske,  John,  208. 

Fite,  Warner,  305. 

Follett,  M.  P.,  14. 


Force,  173,  180,  189,  202,  298;  as 
method  of  conservative  control, 
83;  ethics  of,  283,  284,  288,  289, 
305. 

Foreign  language  press,  90. 

Forty-eight,  Committee  of,  193. 

France,  101,  141,  270,  287,  297. 

Franchise  reform,  89. 

Free  competition,  14,  101,  214,  301. 

Free  silver  issue,  92,  135. 

Free  will,  175,  217,  219,  231. 

Freedom,  269,  271,  272,  279 ;  desire 
for,  145-152,  163,  180,  282 ;  obsta¬ 
cles  to,  151,  153,  154 ;  of  assem¬ 
blage,  90,  91,  148;  of  contract, 
101,  112,  113,  271,  272 ;  of  press, 
76,  83,  90,  148;  of  speech,  75,  76, 
83,  90,  91,  148,  285 ;  of  teaching, 
75,  83 ;  why  demand  for  grows, 
146-151. 

Freeman,  The,  195. 

French  Revolution,  3,  46,  269,  297. 

Friday,  David,  240. 

Frink,  H.  W.,  126,  145. 

Frontier,  116,  263. 

Full  dinner  pail,  115. 

Fundamental  sociological  postu¬ 
lates,  214,  248, 

Genera,  139,  204,  205,  208. 

General  strike,  190,  192,  193,  289. 

Generalization,  204-207,  213-216, 

227,  232,  233,  244. 

Genetics,  213. 

Genius,  145. 

Genoa,  298. 

Gentleman’s  agreements,  136. 

Geography,  210. 

Gerlach,  Hellmut  von,  286. 

German  Social  Democracy,  194. 

German  universities,  92. 

Germany,  101,  286,  297. 

Gerould,  K.  F.,  58. 

Giddings,  F.  H.,  37,  175,  181. 

Ghandi,  193 

Glands,  144,  145,  218,  253. 

Government,  business  control  of, 
106,  107,  283. 

Government  subsidies,  165. 

Gowin,  E.  B.,  59. 

Graft,  96,  98. 

Granger  movement,  68,  135. 

Gray,  Asa,  204. 


INDEX 


345 


Great  Society,  300-302,  306,  309, 
311,  313,  315,  323,  326,  328-333; 
sources  of,  299 ;  disharmony  be¬ 
tween  attitude  and  function  in, 
300-303. 

Greenbackism,  68,  135. 

Gregariousness,  259,  300,  309. 

Group  cohesion,  310. 

Group  consciousness,  260. 

Group  egotism,  37. 

Guild  self-interest,  66. 

Guild  socialism,  90.  See  also  So¬ 
cialism. 

Gunmen,  188. 

Habit,  24,  25,  27,  122,  125,  133,  144, 
155,  183,  223,  238 ;  ethics  of,  277. 

Habituation,  23,  24,  31,  36,  39,  43, 
44,  47,  79,  81,  119,  127,  131,  133, 
142,  149,  151,  157,  174,  223,  226, 
232,  233,  238,  254,  276-278,  290. 

Haiti,  191. 

Haldane,  J.  S.,  218. 

Hamilton,  Alexander,  105. 

Happiness,  142,  257-261,  265,  307; 
defined,  258. 

Harrow,  Benjamin,  145,  218. 

Hart,  Albert  Bushnell,  325. 

Hatred,  172,  176,  180,  248. 

Hedonism,  20,  214. 

Herd  instinct,  34,  35,  162,  1S6,  287. 

Hereditary  differences,  overempha¬ 
sis  upon,  273-275. 

Heredity,  43-45,  249,  254,  257,  265, 
269,  273-275. 

Hero  worship,  161,  229. 

Higher  criticism,  36. 

Higher  learning,  56. 

Hiring  and  firing,  63,  84,  85,  88. 

Historical  parallels,  51. 

Historical  method.  See  Scientific 
research. 

Historical  research,  243. 

History,  study  of,  38,  50,  51. 

Hobbes,  270. 

Hobson,  J.  A.,  101. 

Hollander,  Jacob  H.,  321. 

Hoover,  Herbert,  164. 

Human  capacity,  need  of  discover¬ 
ing  and  developing,  266. 

Human  nature,  155,  315. 

Human  wants,  expansion  of,  148- 
150. 


Hunter,  Robert,  185,  188. 
Huntington,  Elsworth,  141. 
Hutchins,  William  J.,  53. 
Hypocrisy,  76,  93. 

Hypothesis,  206,  207,  219,  227,  228, 

248,  249,  319. 

Hysteria,  115,  119,  187. 

Idealism,  150,  160,  239. 

Idealization,  183. 

Ideo-emotional  mind,  175,  181,  286. 
Ideo-motor  mind,  175,  181,  186,  226, 
229,  286. 

Illusion,  28,  203,  212,  232,  235,  276, 
277,  302,  306. 

Imagination,  27,  31,  38,  154,  157, 
158,  161,  164,  183,  255 ;  scientific, 
207,  219,  222,  227,  228,  235. 
Imitation,  27,  78,  132,  133,  146,  149, 
163,  231. 

Immigration,  140. 

Imperialism,  156,  191. 

Impression,  28,  54,  182. 

Income,  distribution  of,  239,  240, 
266,  271. 

Income  tax,  116,  240. 

Increasing  misery,  doctrine  of, 
158,  239. 

India,  Nationalist  Movement  in,  4, 
193. 

Indifference,  146,  182. 

Individual,  the,  a  social  product, 
261 ;  as  end,  253-261 ;  defined, 
253,  254,  307.  See  also  Individ¬ 
ualism. 

Individual  differences,  264,  265, 
273,  274. 

Individualism,  5,  148,  162,  163,  189, 
193;  eighteenth  century,  269-272 
(see  also  Individualism,  self- 
help)  ;  of  ends,  252-261,  275,  305 ; 
of  means  (sec  Individualism, 
self-help ;  self-help,  69,  99,  116, 
119,  165,  261,  263,  270,  271,  293, 
301,  305,  307,  309,  310,  323. 
Induction,  136,  204,  205,  213,  218, 

249. 

Industrial  exemption,  143,  282. 
Industrial  Revolution,  3,  116,  110. 

143,  147,  187,  189,  270,  272,  299. 
Industrial  unrest,  113,  148,  295. 
Inefficiency,  business,  225. 

Infant  mortality,  209,  212. 


346 


INDEX 


inference,  207,  210,  213,  216,  220, 
244. 

Inferiority  complex,  224,  231. 

Ingalls,  Walter  R.,  240. 

Inhibition,  124. 

Initiative  and  referendum,  89. 

Injunctions,  85,  192. 

Innate  depravity,  102. 

Innate  ideas,  253. 

Innovation,  17,  18,  39,  40,  41,  56, 

132,  133,  139,  146,  187,  212,  248 ; 
relation  to  radicalism,  18,  132, 

133. 

Inquisition,  the,  45. 

Insecurity,  a  source  of  radicalism, 
156,  157. 

Insensitiveness,  222,  223. 

Instinct,  herd  (see  Herd  instinct)  ; 
of  contrivance  (see  Workman¬ 
ship,  instinct  of)  ;  take-a-lead, 
161;  of  workmanship  (see  Work¬ 
manship,  instinct  of).  See  also 
Instincts. 

Instincts,  24,  25,  44,  46,  124,  125, 

132,  144,  232,  299,  300,  309;  and 
purpose,  255 ;  maladjustment  of, 
to  social  needs,  299-301,  303. 

Institutions,  172 ;  cannot  be  ends, 
260,  307 ;  conservative  control 
of,  187 ;  conservative  influence 
of,  47-53;  tend  to  be  regarded 
as  ends,  163. 

Intangible  assets,  89,  326. 

Intellectual  radicals,  138,  158. 

Interchurch  World  Movement,  91, 
110,  114,  185. 

Interest,  121,  122,  126,  131,  132, 

133,  146,  151-153,  209,  220,  221, 
224,  310 ;  vicarious,  128. 

Interest  conflicts,  16,  153,  200-204, 
220,  234,  237,  241,  246,  263,  277, 
283,  289,  290,  304,  305,  310,  313. 

Interested  conservatism,  61-118 ; 
among  skilled  workers,  65-67 ; 
ethics  of,  279-281,  283-287 ;  in  the 
different  social  classes,  63-76; 
methods  of,  82-118,  182,  183;  mo¬ 
tivation  of,  61-63 ;  of  active  busi¬ 
ness  men,  69-72 ;  of  big  business, 
70;  of  clergymen,  74,  75;  of  law¬ 
yers,  73,  74;  of  small  property 
holders,  65;  of  necessitous  con¬ 
dition,  62-64,  75,  119;  of  physi¬ 


cians,  74 ;  of  rentiers,  67-69 ;  of 
teachers,  74,  75 ;  of  vested  inter¬ 
ests,  62,  65-73;  of  white-collared 
workers,  72,  73;  product  of  the 
social  system,  81 ;  types  of,  61, 
62. 

International  Workers  of  the 
World,  64-66,  130,  166,  185,  188. 

Internationalism,  16,  17,  70. 

Interstate  Commerce  Act,  109. 

Interstate  Commerce  Commission, 
246. 

Intimidation,  75,  83-88,  112,  188, 
191 ;  ethics  of,  282-285,  289. 

Intolerance,  17,  44,  222,  227,  228, 
232,  296,  298. 

Introspection,  10,  129,  256. 

Ions,  211. 

Irwin,  Inez  Haynes,  196. 

Isolation,  151,  162,  163,  234. 

Italy,  297. 

Jackson,  Andrew,  243. 

James,  William,  219. 

Japan,  59,  101,  198. 

Jastrow,  Joseph,  175. 

Java,  191. 

Jazz,  214. 

Jesuits,  49. 

Jesus,  263,  307,  312. 

Jevons,  W.  Stanley,  208. 

Jingoism,  226. 

ones,  F.  W.,  146. 

Journalism,  151,  199;  class  view¬ 
point  in,  94,  95. 

Junkers,  89,  141. 

Kautsky,  Karl,  148. 

Kempf,  E.  J.,  145. 

Keynes,  John  Maynard,  236. 

Kidd,  Benjamin,  42. 

King,  W.  I.,  240. 

Kingsley,  Mary  H.,  176. 

Knauth,  Oswald  W.,  240. 

Knights  of  Labor,  85. 

Knockers,  226. 

Kropotkin,  P.,  44,  137. 

Ku  Klux  Klan,  28,  103,  187,  191, 
225. 

Labor  legislation,  83,  107,  108. 

Labor  press,  67,  95. 

Laidler,  Harry  W.,  188. 


INDEX 


347 


Lamberson,  Frances,  146. 

Landed  aristocracy,  106. 

Language  habits,  158,  165.  See 
also  Claptrap,  Slogans. 
Lankester,  E.  Ray,  216. 

Lapouge,  G.,  45. 

Lasker,  Bruno,  58. 

Lassalle,  Ferdinand,  161. 
Lausanne,  298. 

Law,  62,  80,  88,  96,  104,  211;  sci¬ 
entific,  206,  207,  213,  214,  216, 
217. 

Law  and  order,  155,  188,  190. 
Lawyers,  as  judges,  89;  conserva¬ 
tism  of,  7S ;  predominant  in  Con¬ 
gress,  89 ;  social  leadership 
among,  321,  322. 

Leaders,  radical,  defection  of,  96. 
Leadership,  28,  174-181,  189,  196, 
221,  293,  315,  316-333. 

Learning  process,  46,  254. 

Le  Bon,  G.,  134. 

Left  Wing  Manifesto,  189. 
Legislative  lobbies,  106. 

Leisure,  152,  269. 

Leisure  class,  56,  98,  99,  303. 
Lenine,  15. 

Leopold,  Lewis,  55,  59. 

Leverrier,  U.  J.  J.,  207. 

Levine,  Louis,  188. 

Lewis,  Sinclair,  86. 

Liberalism,  12,  14,  172,  183,  271, 
324. 

Libertarianism.  See  Free  will. 
Limitation  of  output,  65,  81,  112, 
113,  284. 

Linear  logic,  249. 

Linnaeus,  204. 

Lippman,  Walter,  96,  286,  287. 
Literacy,  148,  303,  326. 

Living  wage,  108,  247. 

Locke,  John,  270. 

Lockwood  Committee,  199. 

Loria,  Achille,  137. 

Lovett,  Sir  Verner,  193. 

Loyalty,  16,  31,  33-37,  39,  44,  72, 
101,  115,  160,  161,  177,  182,  189, 
201,  230-232,  276,  289,  304;  not 
an  end,  260,  261. 

Lusk  Committee,  188,  189,  195. 
Lynching,  83,  104,  187. 

Macaulay,  Fred  R.,  240. 


Macdonald,  Ramsay,  188. 
Macdougall,  William,  25. 

Machine  smashers,  187. 

McKinley,  A.  S.,  89. 

Madison,  James,  105. 

Magic,  306. 

Main  Street,  325. 

Maladjustment,  basis  of  social  un¬ 
rest,  119,  120,  136,  137,  144. 
Malnutrition,  266. 

Malthus,  Thomas  Robert,  268. 
Manchesterism,  263.  See  also  In¬ 
dividualism,  self-help. 

Manners,  influence  of  youth  upon, 
58. 

Manual  labor,  a  taint  of  servile 
status  in,  98,  99. 

Manufacturers’  associations,  111. 
Marginal  productivity,  215,  249. 
Mark  Twain,  210. 

Marx,  Karl,  35,  137,  161,  176. 
Marxism,  194. 

Master-and-servant  ethics,  71,  269, 
272,  290,  302,  303,  313. 
Mathematics,  213,  245. 

May,  T.  E.,  139. 

Means  and  ends,  202,  252-263,  302. 
Mechanism,  216,  218,  219,  235,  236, 
242,  255,  256. 

Meiklejohn,  Alexander,  325. 
Memory,  205,  255. 

Mental  astigmatism,  203. 

Mental  compartmentization,  40. 
124,  174. 

Mental  flexibility,  159. 

Mental  tests,  225,  273,  274. 

Mental  types,  in  relation  to  con¬ 
servatism,  38,  39 ;  in  relation  to 
radicalism,  174-181. 

Mercantilism,  165,  301. 
Metabolism,  144. 

Metaphysics,  214,  217,  253,  307. 
Methods  of  radicalism,  phases  of, 
169 ;  psychology  of,  168-181 ;  spe¬ 
cific,  181-199. 

Mexico,  103,  104,  314. 

Middle  classes,  the,  97,  98,  322. 
Militancy,  178,  181 ;  shortcomings 
of,  173,  174. 

Militarism,  191,  298. 

Militia,  83. 

Mill,  John  Stuart,  208,  268. 

Mind  in  the  Making,  The,  325. 


348 


INDEX 


Minimum  wage  legislation,  108, 109. 

Mitchell,  Wesley  C.,  240. 

Mob  violence,  104,  119,  187. 

Modesty,  231. 

Monographic  research,  necessity 
for,  250. 

Moody,  John,  87. 

Moral  philosophy,  214. 

Moral  responsibility,  219,  318. 

Morale,  194,  298,  304. 

Mores,  318. 

Morley,  John,  291. 

Morocco,  191. 

Morrow,  Prince,  184. 

Motivation,  253,  257,  262 ;  of  dis¬ 
interested  conservatism,  21-31 ; 
of  interested  conservatism,  61- 
81 ;  of  radicalism,  119-138. 

Motives,  necessity  for  studying, 
234-236,  242,  243;  to  scientific 
research,  237-241. 

Motor  activity,  121. 

Motor  set,  120,  121. 

Muck  rakers,  114. 

Municipal  government,  230. 

Mussey,  H.  R.,  325. 

Mutation,  140. 

itual  aid,  5,  43,  44,  259. 

Mutualism,  264. 

Mysticism,  32,  129,  165,  217,  306, 
308. 

Name-calling,  100,  114,  117,  198. 

Nation,  The,  195. 

National  Birth  Control  Conference, 
197. 

National  Bureau  of  Economic  Re¬ 
search,  240. 

National  Civic  Federation,  114. 

National  Educational  Association, 

74. 

National  honor,  103,  298. 

National  Institution  for  Moral  In¬ 
struction,  53. 

National  Woman’s  Party,  42,  196. 

Nationalism,  4,  16,  17,  37,  115,  297, 
298,  303,  309;  and  religion,  305. 

Natural  liberty,  214. 

Natural  rights,  270. 

Natural  selection,  42,  43,  46,  139. 

Nearing,  Scott,  198. 

Necessitous  condition,  conserva¬ 
tism  of,  62. 


Nechayeff,  188. 

Negro  problem,  29-31. 

Neptune,  207. 

Neuroses,  126,  145. 

Neurotics,  145. 

New  Republic,  The,  195 ;  barred 
from  classes,  91,  325. 

News  “doctoring,”  93-95. 
Newspapers,  concentration  of  own¬ 
ership  of,  94 ;  policies  of,  94 ; 
psychological  influence  of,  224; 
vested-interest  control  of,  94. 
Newton,  Isaac,  211. 

Nietzsche,  309. 

Nihilism,  168,  188. 

Nineteenth  Amendment,  196. 
Nominating  machinery,  89. 
Non-Partisan  League,  68,  135,  187. 
Non-scientific  mind,  characteristics 
of,  220,  232. 

Normalcy,  115,  247. 

Norms,  ethical,  238,  252,  305,  319. 
North  American  Review,  324. 
North  Dakota,  103. 

Nourse,  E.  G.,  68, 


Oath  of  fidelity,  German,  166. 

Objectivity,  6,  182,  203,  209,  211, 
218,  220-223,  231-235,  237,  239, 
240,  247,  279,  285,  308,  317,  318, 
321,  323. 

Observation,  204-210,  212,  213,  215- 
218,  220,  242,  249,  256. 

O’Hare,  Kate,  198. 

Oil  diplomacy,  297. 

Open  forums,  99,  100,  195,  285. 

Open  shop,  84,  85,  101,  102,  166, 
302. 

Opportunism,  164. 

Opportunity,  30,  52,  98,  142,  151, 
165,  261,  263,  271,  277,  278,  280; 
cooperation  creation  of,  262,  264, 
267 ;  democratic  criterion  of  dis¬ 
tribution  of,  266,  282;  equality 
of,  148,  266;  equity  of,  266-269, 
271,  281,  288 ;  limitation  of,  152, 
153,  266,  303. 

Optimism,  6,  39,  152,  181,  226. 

Order,  163,  164 ;  sense  of,  38,  136. 

Organism  as  a  whole,  the,  254,  256, 
306. 

Ossification,  59. 


INDEX 


349 


Package  libraries,  197. 

Parades,  196;  armistice  day,  176. 
Parasitism,  313. 

Parenthood,  not  an  end,  260,  261. 
Parents,  demands  of,  on  children, 
57. 

Pareto,  V.,  208,  245,  308. 

Parker,  Carleton  H.,  65,  130,  185, 
188. 

Parsons,  Elsie  Clews,  59. 

Party  discipline,  159,  162,  193. 
Passive  resistance,  193. 

Past,  the,  radical’s  attitude  to¬ 
ward,  164,  165 ;  reverence  for, 
51,  164,  183,  232. 

Paton,  Stewart,  140. 

Patriotism,  16,  101,  115,  257,  324; 

prostitution  of,  116,  117. 
Patronage,  86,  96,  282. 

Patten,  Simon  N.,  25. 

Paul,  Alice,  196. 

Paul,  Kegan,  289. 

Peace.  Conference,  59,  236,  297. 
Pearson,  Karl,  208,  213,  215,  265. 
Peasants,  conservatism  of,  65. 
Peonage,  87. 

Persecution,  197. 

Personal  equation,  234.  See  also 
Subjective  bias. 

Personal  liberty,  155,  156. 
Personalism,  320. 

Personality,  218,  258,  259,  261. 
Personification,  176,  190. 
Perspective,  social,  1. 

Pessimism,  6,  38,  178,  179,  296,  315. 
Petition,  right  of,  90. 

Phillips,  Adele  N.,  166. 

Phillips,  Russell,  166. 

Philosophy,  206,  214. 

Physicians,  conservatism  among, 
74. 

Picketing,  191,  196. 

Pittsburgh,  191. 

Physiology,  218. 

Plato,  274. 

Play,  309. 

Plutocracy,  264. 

Police  power,  83,  186,  187,  192. 
Politics,  in  the  schools,  74,  75. 
Political  democracy.  See  Democ¬ 
racy,  political. 

Political  philosophy,  214,  301. 
Political  pressure,  196. 


Political  science,  213,  214. 

Poole,  Ernest,  137. 

Popular  uprisings,  189. 

Population,  141,  147,  171,  209,  213, 
214,  280 ;  optimum,  268 ;  in  rela¬ 
tion  to  distribution  of  opportu¬ 
nity,  267,  268. 

Populism,  68,  135. 

Postivity,  213. 

Post  Office  Department,  90. 

Postgraduate  mother,  128. 

Postal  savings,  110. 

Poverty,  63,  64,  75,  87,  98,  135, 
268 ;  personal  and  impersonal 
causes  of,  170,  171. 

Praestigiae,  98. 

Pragmatism,  219. 

Precedent,  183,  203. 

Prediction,  211-213,  215. 

President’s  Mediation  Commission, 
185. 

Press  bureaus,  94. 

Press,  censorship  of,  by  advertis¬ 
ers,  94 ;  through  news  “doctor¬ 
ing,”  93,  94 ;  through  owner’s 
control,  94. 

Prestige,  28,  31,  54-60,  62,  67,  82, 
83,  109,  166,  169,  182,  190,  222, 
229,  230,  234,  259,  278 ;  as  agency 
of  social  control  96-98 ;  bases  of, 
54-56 ;  basis  of  desire  for  recog¬ 
nition,  54,  55;  defined,  54;  of 
age,  57-59 ;  of  leisure,  98,  99 ;  of 
wealth,  56,  97. 

Prevision.  See  Prediction. 

Price  fixation,  135. 

Prices,  244,  296. 

Pride,  36,  37,  72,  232,  234. 

Principles,  settled,  conservative 
craving  for,  32,  33. 

Privilege,  58,  67,  SO,  81,  83,  89,  98, 
102,  105,  109,  116,  151,  185,  270, 
272,  273,  281,  282,  302 ;  ethics  of, 
279,  280. 

Probability,  science  as,  219. 

Professional  men,  conservatism 
among,  73-76. 

Profits,  106,  108,  111,  113. 

Progress,  acceleration  of,  159 ;  lib¬ 
eral’s  sense  of,  164 ;  mutation 
theory  of,  164 ;  radical’s  sense 
of,  164 ;  rationally  directed, 
304. 


350 


INDEX 


Progressivism,  13,  18,  67,  71,  119, 
163,  183. 

Prohibition,  115,  147,  155. 

Proletariat,  189,  dictatorship  of, 
168. 

Proof,  burden  of,  182. 

Propaganda,  60,  63,  83,  96,  97,  100, 
101,  110,  117,  118,  137,  148,  158, 
169,  173,  180,  184,  195,  197,  225, 
228,  232,  243,  285-287,  298 ;  anti- 
Jewish,  225;  ethics  of,  283,  286, 
287;  of  the  deed,  188,  190,  191; 
oral,  195. 

Proscriptions,  45. 

Prosperity,  business  man’s  concept 
of,  106. 

Protective  tariff.  85,  165,  297. 

Protestantism,  162. 

Psychoanalysis,  124,  125,  127,  136, 
219,  235,  242. 

Psychology,  213,  214,  217,  218,  236, 
239,  253,  256 ;  comparative,  234 ; 
scientific,  the  basis  of  ethics,  252, 
253,  261 ;  social,  234,  307. 

Psychopathology,  125,  235. 

Public  Affairs  Information  Serv¬ 
ice,  197. 

Public  apathy,  117. 

Public  charity,  right  to,  63. 

Public  interest,  68,  101,  109,  117, 
246,  321. 

Public  opinion,  83,  90,  196,  260, 
298. 

Public  sentiment,  62,  75,  83,  107, 
108,  111,  117,  260,  286,  287,  298. 

Public  utility  commissions,  116. 

Public  utility  rates,  246. 

Public  welfare,  106,  107. 

Publicity,  95,  197 ;  ahtagonistic, 
197 ;  radical,  196. 

Pugnacity,  121,  127,  166,  180,  189, 
192,  300,  301,  309,  313. 

Pujo  Committee,  87. 

Punishment,  186,  219. 

Puritanism,  148. 

Purpose,  242,  252,  255,  304. 

Radical  leaders  (see  Leadership)  ; 
defection  of,  96. 

Radical  periodicals,  95,  184,  195, 
196,  199;  circulation  of,  195. 

Radical  publishing  houses,  196. 

Radicalism  ad  hoc ,  135,  136 ;  as 


impulse  to  freedom,  145-157 ; 
characteristics  of,  157-167 ;  de¬ 
fined,  15;  disinterested  vs.  inter¬ 
ested,  133-138 ;  ethics  of,  281, 
282,  287-289,  291-293;  limited, 
17 ;  methods  of,  168-199,  288,  289 
(see  also  Methods  of  radical¬ 
ism)  ;  motivation  of,  119-138, 
290 ;  onhangers  of,  134 ;  oppro¬ 
brious  use  of  term,  16,  17 ;  ori¬ 
gin  of,  in  social  evolution,  139- 
145 ;  partial,  17 ;  product  of  dis¬ 
comfort,  119;  relation  to  democ¬ 
racy,  15;  result  of  balked  inter¬ 
ests,  120 ;  symbolical,  127 ;  tem¬ 
peramental,  144,  145 ;  weakness 
of,  290. 

Railroad  strike  of  1922,  192. 

Railroad  wages,  246. 

Railway  Brotherhoods,  246. 

Rationalism,  150,  278,  279. 

Rationalization,  psychoanalytical, 
19,  39,  60,  76,  77,  242,  276,  278, 
280,  282,  315. 

Reactionism,  12,  13,  15,  16,  46,  64, 
84,  101,  119,  172,  187,  297. 

Readjustment,  122,  303  (see  also 
Reconstruction )  ;  psychological, 
methods  of,  121-131 ;  required  by 
social  evolution,  139-145. 

Real  estate  dealers,  110. 

Reconstruction,  297,  299. 

Record,  204,  205,  209,  215,  242,  243. 

Reform,  as  motive  to  scientific  re¬ 
search,  237-241. 

Reform  Bill  of  1832,  16,  139. 

Reformation,  the,  3. 

Reinforcement  of  desire,  122,  130- 
132,  136,  145,  151,  154,  169,  174, 
175,  178,  179,  186,  190,  203,  288, 
313. 

Relativity,  211,  213,  214,  216. 

Religion,  relation  of,  to  attitudes, 
305,  309. 

Religious  belief,  305. 

Religious  motive,  307. 

Religious  observance,  116,  129. 

Rentiers ,  67,  conservatism  of,  68, 
69,  73. 

Renunciation,  129. 

Repression,  24,  122,  124,  125,  129, 
130,  142,  150,  151,  154,  186,  187, 
190,  278,  279. 


INDEX 


Requisites  for  survival,  139. 

Resignation,  152. 

Respectability,  29,  69,  83,  97,  98, 
128,  138,  179,  188,  279,  322; 
norms  of,  278,  281. 

Revisionists,  161. 

Revolution,  83,  96,  98,  134,  142,  156, 
173,  189,  293. 

Ricardo,  David,  249. 

Richberg,  Donald  R.,  247. 

Right  to  work,  101,  111-113,  156, 
271. 

Robinson,  J.  H.,  51,  277,  325. 

Roman  Empire,  51,  310. 

Rome,  191. 

Ross,  E.  A.,  48,  53,  54,  55,  59,  66, 
98,  110,  214,  279. 

Rousseau,  105. 

Royce,  Josiah,  261. 

Rubinow,  I.  M.,  146. 

Russell,  Bertrand,  14,  15,  188,  208, 
216. 

Russia,  15,  91,  95,  189,  314. 

Russian  Revolution,  46. 

Sabbatarianism,  225,  312. 

Sabotage,  188. 

Sadism,  186. 

Saleeby,  C.  W.,  261. 

Salvation,  129. 

Scape-goats,  176. 

School  boards,  88,  184. 

Schools,  conservative  influence  of, 
49-53 ;  curricula  of,  49-52. 

Schroeder,  Theodore,  90. 

Science,  as  measurement,  215 ;  so¬ 
cial  function  of,  241,  248,  305, 
306,  318,  319;  types  of,  204. 

Scientific  attitude,  203 ;  character¬ 
istics  of,  215-220 ;  obstacles  to, 
203,  215 ;  relation  to  scientific 
method,  203,  215. 

Scientific  caution,  212,  227,  228. 

Scientific  courage,  222,  228. 

Scientific  description,  209. 

Scientific  faith,  215-218,  222,  255. 

Scientific  method,  141 ;  difliculties 
in,  220-251 ;  general  features  of, 
203-215 ;  moral  function  of,  203, 
313 ;  obstacles  to,  215,  220-251 ; 
relation  to  interest-conflicts,  200- 
203. 


351 

Scientific  mind,  characteristics  of, 
219-231. 

Scientific  patience,  218,  222,  227. 

Scientific  research,  historical  meth¬ 
od  in,  243 ;  interested  in  func¬ 
tion,  208;  motivation  of,  211,  212, 
237-241,  246,  247. 

Seattle,  191. 

Secret  diplomacy,  59,  115,  298. 

Sectarianism,  37,  42,  151,  162. 

Sectionalism,  37,  104,  117,  225. 

Security,  desire  for,  21,  22,  23,  38, 
61,  69,  156,  176,  279 ;  ethics  of, 
279-281. 

Seductive  prestige,  96,  194,  195. 

Selection.  See  Natural  selection, 
Social  selection. 

Self-abasement,  146,  300. 

Self-assertion,  146,  155,  300. 

Self-expression,  257,  259,  260-262, 
265,  300. 

Self-interest,  20,  78;  guild,  66. 

Self-sacrifice,  137,  179,  307 ;  no  such 
thing  as,  257  ;  ethics  of,  279. 

Selfishness;  narrow,  136,  151,  257, 
258,  262,  280,  292,  307,  311;  the 
broader,  258,  307,  308,  311. 

Sensitiveness,  150,  222,  223,  281 ; 
of  the  radical,  157. 

Sentiment,  7,  9,  21,  22,  47,  100,  102, 
175,  182-184,  201,  202,  231,  236, 
260,  294 ;  defined,  8,  201. 

Sentimentalism,  6,  236,  237,  250, 
276,  309. 

Serial  transference,  130. 

Servant  status,  revolt  from,  270- 
272. 

Service,  261,  305,  307,  308 ;  demo¬ 
cratic  standard  of,  266,  271,  288. 

Sex  ethics,  53,  184. 

Sex  hygiene,  184. 

Shand,  A.  F.,  9. 

Shapiro,  J.  S.,  138,  195 

Shaw,  Bernard,  58. 

Sheppard-Towner  Maternity  Act, 
147. 

Shibboleths,  83,  96,  100-103,  111, 
115,  117,  198,  302. 

Shogunate,  59. 

Siberia,  191. 

Sienkiewicz,  Henryk,  185. 

Sinclair,  Upton,  96. 

Sin,  sense  of,  129. 


352 


INDEX 


Skepticism,  101 ;  factual,  222 ;  sci¬ 
entific,  220,  222 ;  selective,  182, 
226,  228. 

Skilled  workers,  conservatism  of, 
65,  66. 

Slave  insurrections,  189. 

Slave  trade,  4. 

Slavery,  99 ;  classical  justification 
of,  269. 

Slichter,  Charles  G.,  320,  329. 

Slogans,  96,  100,  103,  105,  106,  109, 
111,  115,  117,  198,  302. 

Smith,  Adam,  66,  83,  105,  270. 

Smith,  J.  H.,  106. 

Social  change,  incidence  on  dif¬ 
ferent  classes,  143,  144;  relation 
to  conservatism  and  radicalism, 
139-144. 

Social  consciousness,  253. 

Social  contract,  sense  of,  79,  214. 

Social  control,  26,  47,  80,  97,  155, 
168,  203,  229,  264,  310;  as  aim 
of  vested-interest  conservatism, 
83 ;  struggle  for,  168,  169. 

Social  cooperation,  150,  156,  172, 
173,  252,  259,  276,  278,  305,  307, 
312. 

Social  diagnosis,  169,  170,  172,  180, 
275. 

Social  disapprobation,  29,  278. 

Social  equality,  29-31. 

Social  evolution,  42,  140-142,  164, 
304,  314. 

Social  experiment,  159,  165,  314. 

Social  genesis,  304. 

Social  group,  cannot  be  an  end, 
260,  307. 

Social  heredity,  300,  301. 

Social  institutions.  See  Institu¬ 
tions. 

Social  investigation,  complexity  of, 
242,  248. 

Social  mind,  253,  260. 

Social  perspective,  1. 

Social  safety,  conservative  solici¬ 
tude  for,  29-31. 

Social  science  teachers,  attacks  on, 
92. 

Social  sciences,  213-215,  234,  245, 
309,  331 ;  linear  reasoning  in, 
249. 

Social  selection,  25,  44,  45,  139. 

Social  service,  332. 


Social  stratification,  141 ;  in  rela¬ 
tion  to  interested  conservatism, 
61,  62,  63. 

Social  value,  253. 

Social  welfare,  155,  253,  300. 

Social  work,  as  sublimation,  127. 

Socialism,  5,  15,  16,  51,  70,  114, 
152,  155,  156,  158,  171,  176,  188, 
194,  198,  214,  232,  “264;  guild, 
155,  194,  298. 

Socialists,  expulsion  of,  from  New 
York  State  Legislature,  197. 

Sociality,  264. 

Socialization,  310. 

Society,  as  means,  261-263;  dyna¬ 
mic  quality  of,  140-143,  147 ;  not 
an  end,  260. 

Sociological  postulates,  214,  24S. 

Sociology,  213,  214,  249. 

Sorel,  Georges,  185. 

Soul  stuff,  253. 

Sovietism,  90,  106,  298. 

Sparks,  Jared,  324. 

Special  creation,  209. 

Specialization,  41,  151,  154,  224, 
249,  250. 

Species,  139,  204,  208,  209 ;  origin 
of,  209. 

Spectrum,  attitudinal,  11,  12,  133. 

Speculation,  165,  306. 

Spencer,  Anna  Garlin,  128. 

Spencer,  Herbert,  141. 

Spies,  91,  194. 

Standard  of  living,  56,  63,  65,  66, 
71,  133,  134,  136,  144,  146,  147, 
152,  156,  164,  170,  282,  303,  326. 

State,  the,  regarded  as  end,  165 ; 
static,  249. 

State  universities  attacks  on,  92. 

States’  rights,  103. 

Statistical  bureaus,  244. 

Statistical  method,  213,  215,  243- 
245. 

Statistics,  210,  213,  243-246. 

Stephen,  Leslie,  16,  292. 

Stevens,  Doris,  196. 

Stevenson,  Robert  Louis,  58. 

Stoddard,  Lothrop,  4. 

Strike,  85,  191 ;  Chinese  students’, 
193 ;  general,  190,  192,  193,  289. 

Strike  breakers,  187. 

Struggle  for  existence,  63-65,  98, 
299. 


INDEX 


353 


Sub-conscious,  the,  123,  124. 

Subjective  bias,  206,  209,  220,  224, 
226,  231,  233,  234,  241-243. 

Subjectivity,  222-233,  250.  See  also 
Subjective  bias. 

Sublimation,  79,  122,  124,  125,  129, 
130,  150,  151,  154,  "278,  279,  282, 
309-311. 

Substitution,  122,  138,  186 ;  in  rela¬ 
tion  to  conservatism  and  radi¬ 
calism,  125-130. 

Success,  57,  83,  128,  139,  141,  151. 

Suffragettes,  42,  196. 

Suggestion,  55,  96. 

Suicide  209 ;  spiritual,  154. 

Sumner,  W.  G.,  59. 

Sumptuary  legislation,  66. 

Sunday  schools,  52,  53. 

Super-individualism,  263. 

Superman  complex,  71. 

Supernaturalism,  176. 

Superstition,  27,  98,  151,  165. 

Suppression,  122-125,  130,  142,  154, 
155. 

Supreme  Court,  85,  89. 

Surplus  value,  158,  214. 

Survey,  The,  195. 

Survival  of  the  fittest,  42,  43,  140, 
309. 

Suspicion,  166,  172,  180. 

Symbiosis,  253. 

Symbolical  conservatism,  127,  128. 

Symbolical  radicalism,  127,  129, 
130,  138. 

Symbolization,  124,  126,  127,  129, 
130,  176. 

Sympathy,  118,  132,  133,  135,  157, 
158,  178,  177,  224,  234,  258,  259, 
262,  279,  281,  282,  300,  309,  312, 
213,  318,  333 ;  as  source  of  radi* 
calism  136-138 ;  function  in  sci¬ 
entific  research,  234-237 ;  objec¬ 
tive,  236,  241 ;  subjective,  236, 
241. 

Syndicalism,  64,  166,  168,  188,  192, 
194. 

Synoptic  sciences,  213. 

Take-a-lead  instinct,  161. 

Talent,  limited  supply  of,  266. 

Taste,  128. 

Taxes,  school,  87. 

Taxonomy,  204,  208,  245. 


Teachers,  attitudes  of,  49-51,  74, 
75,  323,  324,  327-329 ;  conserva¬ 
tism  of,  74-76,  324 ;  restrictions 
on  private  life  oT,  SS ;  “safe,”  60, 

91,  285,  325;  salaries  of,  75. 
Teaching,  censorship  of,  91-93. 
Temperament,  150,  154,  174,  218, 

220,  231,  316 ;  combative,  179, 
ISO;  physiological  basis  of,  144, 
145. 

Terrorism,  188.  See  also  Propa¬ 
ganda  of  the  deed. 

Textbook  commissions,  184. 
Theorists,  114,  182. 

Thinking,  nature  of,  255. 

Thomas,  W.  I.,  233,  238,  239,  241. 
Thought,  207. 

Thrift,  113,  119. 

Thyroid  gland,  120,  144,  145. 
Timidity,  146,  150,  151. 

Tolerance,  202,  237,  310,  313,  323. 
Tolstoi,  137. 

Trade  union  colleges,  184,  195. 
Trade  unions,  65,  66,  84,  188,  191, 
271. 

Transference,  (see  Substitution)  ; 
serial,  130. 

Trial  and  error  method,  248,  250, 
314. 

Tridon,  Andre,  188. 

Trotsky,  15. 

Trust  movement,  70,  86. 

Truth,  test,  of  206,  211,  212,  219, 
229.  See  also  Criticism,  Prag¬ 
matism. 

Tyndall,  John,  216. 

Unconscious,  the,  122-125,  127,  235. 
Under-cover  men,  91. 
Unemployment,  85,  111,  143,  156, 
296. 

Unfair  list,  85,  191. 

United  States  Senate,  89. 

Universal  military  service,  84. 
Universities,  295,  321-323,  329 ; 

German,  92 ;  State,  attacks  on, 

92. 

University  governing  boards,  per¬ 
sonnel  of,  93. 

University  of  Oklahoma,  198. 
University  of  Tennessee,  325. 
University  of  Wisconsin,  198. 
Unrest,  131,  133,  142-144,  149,  158. 


354 


INDEX 


Uranus,  207. 

Utilitarianism,  257,  261. 

Utopianism,  157. 

Valuation,  9,  22,  38,  177,  201,  202, 
215,  246,  247 ;  radical’s  scale  of, 
163. 

Value,  23,  163,  201,  246;  surplus, 
158,  214. 

Value-reaction,  9. 

Veblen,  Thorstein,  22,  31,  43,  44, 
56,  68,  69,  98,  143,  144,  322. 

Vested  interests,  58,  61-63,  65-67, 
70,  80,  83,  84,  86,  88-97,  101,  103, 
105-108,  111,  114-117,  135,  181, 
184,  187,  188,  190-192,  194,  201, 
272,  278,  280,  290,  314,  326;  na¬ 
ture  of,  62. 

Vested-interesti  conservatism,  62, 
65-74,  81,  83,  99,  105,  114,  116. 

Viewpoint,  1,  2. 

Villard,  Oswald  Garrison,  198. 

Violence,  174,  181,  185-191;  ethics 
of,  283,  284,  288,  289 ;  in  labor 
disputes,  83,  102,  103,  187,  191. 

Vocational  education,  51,  52. 

Volstead  Act,  17. 

Voltaire,  137. 

Wallas,  Graham,  299. 

Wanderlust,  130. 

War,  83,  103,  147,  156,  187,  302, 
309 ;  aftermath  of,  294-298. 

Ward,  Lester  F.,  304. 

Warren,  H.  C.,  8,  9. 

Washington,  George,  324. 

Waste,  110,  136,  147-149,  164,  225, 
267,  326. 

Watkins,  G.  P.,  240. 

Watson,  John  B.,  121,  125,  145. 

Wealth,  151,  152,  208;  conserva¬ 
tive  influence  of,  56 ;  distribution 
of,  239,  240,  262,  266;  prestige 
of,  56. 


Webb,  Beatrice,  149,  290. 

Webb,  Sidney,  149,  290. 

Weisman,  August,  42. 

Wells,  H.  G.,  320. 

West  Virginia,  77,  191 

West,  W.  M.,  325 

Westinghouse,  George,  18. 

Westminster  Catechism,  260. 

Wharton,  Edith,  58. 

Whigs,  139. 

Whim,  216,  222,  231,  305.  See  also 
Chance. 

White,  Andrew  D.,  92. 

White-collared  class,  conservatism 
of,  62,  67,  72,  73. 

Williams,  J.  M.,  3,  201. 

Williams,  Roger  A.,  77. 

Wilson,  Woodrow,  14,  89. 

Wisconsin,  193 ;  University  of,  198. 
Woman  movement,  128. 

Woman  suffrage,  28,  40,  42,  89,  161, 
196,  197. 

Woman’s  Christian  Temperance 
Union,  238. 

Women,  conservatism  of,  63,  88, 
127,  128 ;  economic  dependence 
of,  57,  88;  teachers,  75;  unrest 
of,  128. 

Woodworth,  R.  S.,  7. 

•Workers’  education,  184,  329. 

Workmanship,  instinct  of,  22,  128, 
132,  133,  141,  146,  151,  262,  271 
281,  300,  318. 


Yarros,  Victor  F.,  136. 

Young,  Art,  176. 

Youth,  48-59,  78,  322,  333;  conser¬ 
vatism  of,  33 ;  emotional  radical¬ 
ism  of,  159,  160. 

Youth  Movement,  58,  198 


Znaniecki,  F.,  233,  238. 


